


The whole truth (would break your heart)

by givebackmylifecas



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Andrés and Martín don't cheat on each other, Cheating, Fake Moustaches, First Kiss, First Meetings, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rich!Berlin, Scammer!Palermo, Yucatán AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:27:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 36,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24989041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/givebackmylifecas/pseuds/givebackmylifecas
Summary: It's a story as old as time: Martín and Raquel are performers on a cruise-ship looking for a way to scam some idiots out of their money, Andrés and Sergio are the brothers they're trying to scam. But everything is not as simple as it seems.In other words, it's a Yucatán AU!
Relationships: Berlin | Andrés de Fonollosa/Palermo | Martín Berrote, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Raquel Murillo/Professor | Sergio Marquina
Comments: 129
Kudos: 270





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> soooo yeah, have this yucatán au?  
> i don't think you need to have seen the film to read this, but you should bc it's great  
> No trigger warnings so far, but I'll update when needed  
> Fic title from the Don Broco song 'The Whole Truth'

Martín carefully positions the moustache on his upper lip, patting it into place when he’s sure it’s straight. He takes a final look in the mirror and nods to himself as he dusts off his jacket.

“I don’t know why bother you putting on that fake porn-stache,” Nairobi says from beside him, reapplying her eyeliner.

Martín sighs. “This is a persona, Nairobi. As such, I must play a part and the moustache helps me. Besides, I think I look distinguished.”

“You look like a dick,” Tokyo tells him, repositioning her wig.

Martín flips her off and she sticks her tongue out at him.

Nairobi scoffs. “He always looks like a dick.”

Before he can respond, Raquel, looking resplendent in a red evening gown, appears in the doorway.

“Martín, hurry up, that was your cue,” she says, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yes, yes, I’m going,” he says, hurrying off towards the stage.

He takes a breath just before he steps out into the lights and fixes a dazzling smile on his face.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he announces to the rapt audience. “Welcome to the MS Sovereign. I am your pianist, Martín Berrote and I am here to tell you that on this ship, all your dreams can and will come true. Forget everything that is worrying you right now, your children’s schools, your mortgages – your spouses if you came here without them.” He pauses for the smattering of laughter. “Leave it all behind on shore and enjoy your stay.”

He steps away as the audience claps and the dancers hurry on stage. Tokyo throws him a filthy look as she walks past and he winks at her.

Raquel is standing backstage when he walks off.

“What do you think? Anything?” he asks and she makes a non-committal gesture.

“Maybe. I’ll get a better look when I’m out there.”

Martín nods. “Okay, come see me later.”

Raquel snorts. “As long as you promise not to get drunk and cry again.”

“Shut up, that was one time,” he scowls and she blows him a kiss before striding on stage.

Martín skulks off to the bar where Denver and Helsinki are working tonight.

“Get me a my usual, please,” he says, slumping onto a bar stool.

Denver laughs obnoxiously. “Aw, was Raquel mean to you again?”

“No,” Martín says unconvincingly and Helsinki slides him his drink. “Helsinki, you’re a gentleman and a scholar and I love you whole-heartedly.”

“Oh no, you keep your grubby paws off him,” a voice says from behind him and Martín groans when Nairobi appears.

“Why aren’t you on stage?” he asks and she sighs, dark brows pulling together in a frown.

“Last minute change to schedule, you know what Arturo is like.”

Martín rolls his eyes. “He’s an asshole.”

“Who is?” Rio asks, returning from where he was serving some middle-aged women on the other side of the bar.

“Arturo,” Helsinki says.

Denver scowls. “I swear, if he goes near Mónica one more time.”

“I told you, I’ll take care of it,” Nairobi says and Denver nods gratefully.

Martín drains his drink and holds his empty glass out to Helsinki. “Please?” he asks and the other man sighs.

“You’re the worst, Martín,” Helsinki says, grabbing the glass and Martín braces himself on the bar, stretching over it to press an exaggerated kiss to his bearded cheek.

“You’re my favourite, Helsi.”

Denver frowns, looking back and forth between them. “I thought you two stopped fucking.”

Martín groans, burying his face in his arms, and hears someone – probably Nairobi – slap the back of Denver’s head.

“They did,” Nairobi says. “Palermo’s just being an asshole.”

“Oh,” Denver says, sounding relieved. “That’s alright then.”

“I’m not an asshole, right Helsinki?” Martín asks and Helsinki shrugs.

“You kind of are.”

Nairobi cackles and Martín flips her off. “I hate all of you. Tell Raquel when she’s done that I’ll be outside on the observation deck.”

He grabs his new drink and slides off the barstool, walking away, when of course Nairobi calls him back.

“What?” he asks and turns around, only for her to lean forward and viscously rip his fake moustache off.

She waves it at him as he yowls in pain. “It looked stupid,” she says with a shrug and Denver laughs like a hyena.

Martín storms off without another word, not stopping until he gets to his favourite lounger on the open deck of the ship. The deck is mostly empty, with the majority of guests either watching Raquel sing or trying to find their rooms and exploring the ship’s amenities.

He flops onto the lounger, drink still in hand and sips it gratefully. Helsinki clearly doesn’t hate him or he wouldn’t have given him what looks to be a quadruple whiskey.

He drinks this one slowly, staring out at the ocean. He’s done this cruise many times now, but the endless expanse of water never ceases to fascinate him.

It’s almost fully dark when Raquel finally joins him, make up wiped off and hair hanging about her face in thick waves.

“So?” he asks as she settles into the lounger next to him.

“There’s a few potential marks. One that definitely has some big money.”

He turns to look at her. “Do tell.”

She stretches out on her seat, yawning. “Brothers, but with different names. Andrés de Fonollosa is the one with the money.”

“Do you think we could do the diamond scam?” Martín asks and Raquel shakes her head.

“I don’t think so. He has money and taste, it’s the sort of thing he wouldn’t fall for. Maybe the on-board casino?”

Martín sighs. “Arturo has Gandia working there now.”

“Fuck,” Raquel says succinctly. “Have sex and then blackmail him? I saw a wedding ring and no wife.”

“You’re interested in him?” Martín asks, startled. Raquel hadn’t wanted to do any of the scams involving sex for a while. Not since before she married her scumbag of an ex-husband.

She sits up and steals what’s left of his drink. “Not really, but he seems like he’d be up for it.”

“Alright then,” Martín says. “Just the two of us though. Let’s not get Denver and the others involved.”

“Agreed,” Raquel nods. “Not after Rio and Tokyo blew their cover three times in a row.”

Martín snorts. “God, that was a shit show.”

“It was.” Raquel says, then narrows her eyes as she surveys him. “What’s up with you, by the way? Why are you moping alone outside? You usually love the first night.”

Martín shrugs. “I don’t know. Just not feeling it, I guess.”

“Is this because of Helsinki?”

“No,” he says. “It honestly isn’t. We’re better as friends.”

“Without the benefits?” she questions and he nods. “Well then, I’m sure you can find a willing passenger to keep you company.”

“Maybe,” Martín says glumly, not sure himself what’s come over him.

“Cheer up,” Raquel says. “This time tomorrow we might have that de Fonollosa guy signing a fat check for us to not tell his wife he cheated.”

* * *

Martín is woken the next day by a very persistent knocking on his door. He stumbles out of bed in his underwear and opens the door to his cabin to find Denver standing there.

“What do you want?” he asks, already walking back into the room so he can return to his bed.

Denver follows him in, ignoring Martín crawling under the sheets.

“Okay so the thing is,” Denver says, starting to talk as Martín pulls his blanker over his head. “I was talking to my father the other day – you know how we’re really close right? And anyway, he was telling me about my uncle Benjamin. Not really my uncle, like not by blood, but like a close family friend –”

“Oh my god Denver, if you’re here to ask me to give your uncle a job then I’m going to murder you.”

There’s a pause. “Not my uncle. His kid. Julia. Well, she used to be Juan, but now she’s Julia and she’s struggling a lot and –”

Martín sits up, staring at Denver who stops talking, looking a little nervous. “Wait, is she the friend of yours whom I met in Casablanca that one time?”

“Well, yes.”

“She can’t get a job?”

Denver shakes his head. “No. But she’s really talented at uh… mixing drinks. And we’re a bartender short since Oslo left.”

Martín flops backwards into his pillows. “Okay I’ll see what I can do.”

Denver cheers. “Thank you so much, Palermo!”

“Is she going to board next time we stop or wait till we return to Spain?”

Denver scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well, she’s sort of… on board already.”

“Denver,” Martín says slowly.

Denver blanches. “Yeah?”

“If Arturo kills me over this, I’m coming back as a malicious spirit and pushing you overboard.”

“You won’t regret it, I promise!” Denver says and Martín scowls.

“You know, I’m not sure I believe you. Now get out so I can go back to sleep.”

Martín pulls the blankets back over his head, but doesn’t hear Denver leaving.

“Uh,” he says. “Palermo? Raquel was asking for you. She said she wants to go out onto the leisure deck now and you need to come with her.”

“Tell her to go fuck herself,” Martín grumbles, still underneath his warm sheets.

“Yeah about that. She said if you said that, she’s going to and I quote ‘hook and gut the fish herself and then castrate you’. I don’t know what that means, but she does really like sushi,” Denver rambles.

Martín swears and then rolls out of bed. “Fine, tell her I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

Denver grins. “Okay, and she said you should wear the white shorts and the ‘pretentious see-through black’ shirt. I don’t know why that’s important, but she said I should make sure you do.”

“Okay, that’s enough, Denver. Fuck off out of here – or do you want to watch me shower and dress?” Martín asks, hooking his thumbs in the waistband of his boxers.

“No!” Denver says and is out of the room before Martín can blink. Maybe if he’d threatened to strip earlier, he wouldn’t now have to convince Arturo to hire Denver’s cousin.

“Finally!” Raquel hisses when he emerges onto the sun-soaked leisure deck. She grabs his arm and immediately steers him towards the bar.

“What do you mean, finally? I only woke up twenty minutes ago!” Martín gripes. “Now explain why I’m missing breakfast and am instead dressed in the same outfit I wore to Helsinki’s 40th birthday party?”

Raquel casually props herself against the bar and glances around to make sure Rio is occupied making cocktails before she leans in conspiratorially. “I saw our mark at breakfast, but he didn’t seem that interested. The brother, however did.”

Martín frowns. “So go for the brother, what do you need me for?”

Raquel rolls her eyes and gestures at herself. “Look at me and what I’m wearing. De Fonollosa didn’t even take a second glance.”

“So you think he plays for the other team?” Martín asks, eyeing her flowing summer dress with long slits up both sides of the skirt.

Raquel nods. “Yes, which is why I needed you here and tarted up. I said I’d join them for a game of cards and told them I’d bring my friend.”

Martín sighs and turns to face the bar. “Rio? Get me a pornstar martini and make it a large one.” When Rio nods and disappears to get the shaker, Martín rolls his eyes at Raquel’s stare. “Well, I’m not doing this sober.”

“It’s two o’clock in the afternoon, Martín,” she says.

“So? I’m not working till this evening.”

“You haven’t even eaten yet.”

“And who’s fault is that?” he hisses. She looks like she wants to argue, but suddenly there’s a wide, fake smile on her face.

“Shut up and play nice. They’re here,” she says through clenched teeth, waving at someone behind Martín.

“Raquel, how wonderful to see you again,” a smooth voice says.

When Martín turns to see its owner, his heart nearly drops into his stomach. Two men are coming towards them, one elegantly dressed in a linen suit and crisp white shirt, the other dressed much more humbly in a patterned shirt and plain shorts. His only thought in his suddenly blank brain is that if the elegant one turns out not to be gay, Martín’s going to try and convince him to try it for a night anyway.

“Martín, let me introduce you to my new friends. This is Andrés and his brother Sergio. Gentlemen, this is my dear friend Martín,” Raquel says.

“Wonderful to meet you,” Martín says as charmingly as he can. He shakes both of their hands still unsure which is which.

The elegant one eyes him. “Nice shirt. Yves Saint Laurent, if I’m not mistaken.”

Martín looks down at himself and nods, slightly awed. “You’re right. I’m surprised, most people here wouldn’t recognise a high-fashion brand if it hit them in the face.”

“Well,” the man says, one corner of his mouth lifting into a half smile. “It’s been said before that I have excellent taste.”

“Don’t let him fool you, he’s usually the one saying it,” the unshaven man says, pushing his glasses up his nose and Raquel laughs.

“Please excuse Sergio, it seems he was up too late reading again,” the man, whom Martín is now certain must be Andrés, says. “He left his manners in bed.”

Raquel waves a blasé hand. “Not to worry, I like my men straightforward.”

Sergio blushes and Andrés smiles predatorily at Martín. “How do you like yours?”

Martín opens his mouth to retort but instead jumps when he hears someone say his name angrily.

“Motherfucker,” he says when he sees Arturo coming towards him. He ignores Andrés and Sergio’s amused looks and instead starts draining the cocktail Rio left on the bar for him.

“Arturo, what can I do for you?” he asks, smiling widely when the slimy little man reaches them.

Arturo looks distinctly unimpressed, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Why aren’t you in the piano bar?”

“Because I don’t start until seven,” Martín says slowly, as if talking to a child. “It’s two now, Arturo.”

“And you can’t go earlier?” Arturo asks.

Martín smiles sweetly and swallows the last of his drink. “Are you going to pay me earlier?”

“What do you think?”

“Then unfortunately, my answer is no. But you can thank me anyway, because I’ve found the answer to your bartending problem,” Martín says triumphantly.

“Really? You’ve pushed Denver overboard then?” Arturo laughs at his own lame joke and Martín grimaces.

“No. But I know you’re short staffed and I’ve found someone to help out. She has many years of experience in the top hotels of Casablanca.”

“Does she now? And she looks the part? This ship has a certain aesthetic you know.”

Martín nods even though he has no idea what Julia looks like now. “Of course, Arturito, don’t I look like I know the aesthetic?”

Arturo surveys Martín in his very short shorts and transparent shirt and looks like he’s swallowing bile when he nods. “I suppose it’s an aesthetic of sorts. When can she start?”

“Tonight!” Martín says and Arturo’s expression darkens.

“She’s already on board?”

“Uh,” Martín says. “Yes?”

“You’re starting early tonight. And stop sleeping with the guests, we don’t need the ship to get a reputation,” Arturo says, before turning on his heel and leaving.

Martín makes an obscene gesture at his retreating back, turning back to Raquel and their marks. Both Raquel and Sergio look confused, but Andrés just seems amused, which Martín thinks can only be a good thing.

“Was that your boss?” Andrés asks, smile still playing on his lips.

Martín exchanges a glance with Raquel and then shrugs. “Sort of. He manages the schedules but he couldn’t actually fire me, no matter how much he might want to.”

“So, boys, cards?” Raquel asks.

Martín nods and signals for Rio. “Rio, a round of mimosas please.”

“Oh I don’t think I should drink this early,” Sergio says and Andrés sighs.

“Hermanito please, we’re on vacation. Live a little.”

Sergio frowns and Raquel puts a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t we go find a table. Martín can join us when he’s got the drinks.”

Sergio nods and awkwardly offers Raquel his arm. She looks genuinely endeared by the gesture and takes it, leading him to a table in the corner of the deck. Martín watches them go and hopes he isn’t imagining the way Andrés gives him a lingering a look before following his brother and Raquel.

“What are you two doing?” Rio asks as he lines the glasses up on the bar and starts pouring orange juice.

“Just enjoying our free time with some new friends,” Martín says with a brilliant smile.

Rio narrows his eyes and frowns, topping off the drinks with champagne. “Uh-huh, sure.”

“Can I have a tray for the drinks?” Martín asks impatiently.

Rio scowls but puts the mimosas on a little serving tray. “There you go.”

“Thank you,” Martín says with an exaggerated bow and then grabs the tray with one hand, putting on his sunglasses with the other.

Raquel has picked a table with a view of the open sea as well as the lower decks and she is seated as close to Sergio as she can without leaving her own chair. Andrés is lounging on a chair opposite them with his eyes closed against the sun, basking in it and looking rather like a contented cat.

“Here we go,” Martín says, putting the tray down on the table.

Raquel smiles and starts distributing the drinks. Martín raises his own glass as Andrés straightens up, eyes once again open and studying everything around him.

“Cheers,” Martín says with a little smile.

“To new acquaintances,” Raquel says, winking at Sergio.

“To new acquaintances,” the men repeat, before they all sip their drinks.

Andrés wrinkles his nose as he puts his glass back down.

“Not to your taste?” Raquel asks.

Andrés shakes his head with a slight smile. “No, I just have some… unpleasant memories associated with this particular drink.”

“Ooh, how intriguing,” Raquel says, leaning forward. “Do tell us, Andrés.”

Martín takes a sip of his mimosa, trying not to look too interested as Andrés shakes his head regretfully. “It’s not a cheerful story, or a short one, since it concerns my ex-wife.”

Raquel nods in understanding and Martín feels his stomach twist. He knows of course that Andrés having an ex-wife means little in terms of his sexuality, but he is disappointed nevertheless. He tells himself that it’s because an ex-wife won’t care as much about pictures of Andrés in bed with another man.

“Which one?” Sergio suddenly mutters, earning himself a sharp glare from Andrés and a startled snort of laughter from Raquel.

“There’s more than one?” she asks.

Sergio answers before Andrés can. “Three,” he says, then pauses. “Well, actually. Maybe four now?”

Andrés shrugs. “Isabelle and I might still work things out,” he says, but he doesn’t sound like a man desperate to keep his marriage together.

Raquel throws Martín a worried look which he returns, but decides if he can’t make money by sleeping with Andrés, he might as well get some off him in cards.

“Well, aren’t we here to play a game?” he asks and Andrés throws him a pleased look, that definitely doesn’t warm Martín in ways he’d rather ignore.

“We were, Martín,” Andrés says, pulling a deck of cards from an inside pocket of his suit jacket. Once the cards are on the table, he shrugs out of the jacket, leaving him just in shirtsleeves and Martín’s mouth goes decidedly dry.

“Sergio, why don’t you shuffle?” Andrés asks and his brother sighs, but accepts the cards.

“You know, I really don’t like playing cards with you,” Sergio says. “Can’t we play something where I can just be the house and don’t have to play.”

“But where’s the fun in that?” Martín asks.

Andrés rolls his eyes, stretching so that one arm is propped on the deck railing, the other resting on the back of Martín’s chair. “He isn’t fun,” he says teasingly and Sergio scowls. “Fine, hermanito. Why don’t we play twenty-one then and you can be the bank?”

Sergio nods, but Raquel frowns, playing dumb. “Twenty-one?”

“It’s blackjack,” Sergio says, hastening to explain the rules to her.

When Raquel has stopped frowning, Sergio shuffles the cards again and deals.

Martín takes it easy for the first few rounds, letting both Raquel and Andrés win a couple of times each and groaning when Sergio as the house wins the fifth time.

“I think I’ve got the hang of this now,” Raquel says boldly and Sergio laughs. “No, honestly I do. Let’s put some money on the table, huh?”

Andrés grins and points at her. “I like you,” he says and Martín suddenly isn’t so sure that Raquel doesn’t have both brothers interested in her.

Andrés pulls a ridiculously ostentatious money clip out of his pocket, laying three fifty euro notes out on the table.

Raquel looks dismayed as she explains that she left her purse in her room.

“I’ll spot you,” Martín tells her, as is his part in their well-rehearsed script. He struggles for a moment to pull his wallet out of his shorts’ pocket and then matches Andrés’ amount.

Andrés blinks at him for a moment and then grins when Martín frowns in confusion. “Sorry, but how on earth did you fit that wallet into shorts that tight?”

Raquel giggles and Martín feels himself go red. “Uh, practice,” he says numbly and Andrés raises an eyebrow.

“I’m sure,” he says glibly and Martín has never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his life.

Sergio’s pointed cough is the only thing that makes them look away from each other.

Andrés wins the next round, but only because Martín lets him. Raquel pouts attractively and Martín hides his smile at Sergio’s slightly rapt expression. It’s the last round that Andrés wins however, because Martín goes on a streak that lasts six hands, making Andrés add more and more notes to the pile on the table.

“Martín wins again!” Raquel says, clapping her hands delightedly and Martín smiles at her.

Sergio however, narrows his eyes suspiciously. “You’re card counting,” he says decisively.

Raquel looks shocked. “Sergio,” she says, but he shakes his head.

“He is, I can tell. He always knows exactly who’ll have which cards.”

Martín widens his eyes innocently. He’s never been caught before, but clearly both he and Raquel underestimated this man’s intelligence. “I’m just a piano player, señor,” he tries and Sergio shakes his head.

“Yes and mathematics and music are closely related, don’t try and pretend you’re a simple fool,” he accuses and Martín’s heartrate is actually picking up. If Sergio reports this, Arturo will have Gandia murder him.

They both startle when Andrés laughs loudly. Martín turns to look at him, surprised by the honest mirth on the other man’s face.

“You are a clever little thing, aren’t you?” he asks and Martín chances a smile since he doesn’t seem angry. “You know, usually I wouldn’t let this sort of thing go, but for some reason I’m inclined to give you a pass just this once.”

He’s still smiling, but his mouth has taken on a sharp twist that Martín isn’t sure he likes.

“I’m sure it wasn’t intentional,” Raquel says, trying to smooth over the situation. “Martín’s head for numbers just takes over sometimes. Isn’t that right, Martín?”

Martín nods, still unable to look away from Andrés.

“I’m sure,” Andrés says.

“Why don’t you two join us for dinner tomorrow night?” Raquel suggests, coy smile back on her face. “Martín and I are on stage tonight.”

Sergio nods slowly, but doesn’t seem convinced.

“That sounds wonderful.” Andrés answers for his brother.

Raquel smiles. “Perfect. Why don’t we forget about the money, everyone just takes back what they originally wagered.”

Martín nods frantically in agreement, trying not to let on how flustered he is, but Andrés shakes his head.

“Oh no,” he says, gathering together the bank notes and handing them to Martín. “You earned this, you should take it.”

Martín frowns. “What’s the catch?” he can’t refrain from asking.

“No catch,” Andrés says, pressing the money into Martín’s hand.

He bites back a gasp when Andrés’ fingertips slide over his palm. “If you’re sure.”

Andrés smiles winningly. “Of course. Come on Sergio, why don’t we go and explore a bit. We’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yes,” Martín says weakly. “Tomorrow.”

Sergio and Andrés depart, Sergio with an almost comically longing look at Raquel. She waves at him and, when the brothers have disappeared, lets out a long breath.

“Jesus, I thought we were fucked just now,” she says.

“Me too,” Martín mumbles.

Raquel snaps her fingers in front of his face. “Hey, focus. That was your fault. You shouldn’t have tried to count the cards if you can’t be sneaky about it.”

He glares at her. “How was I supposed to know that they aren’t the usual braindead tourists you usually pick.”

“Well maybe, because they don’t look like braindead tourists. I think Sergio’s a professor of something.”

“Whatever,” he huffs. “At least Sergio seems like a good candidate for the sex blackmail. I imagine even if he doesn’t have money himself, his brother will pay.”

Raquel looks hesitant. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“Hey,” Martín says. “You don’t have to. We can always find someone else, someone we can do the diamond scam on.”

“No it’s okay, we saw today that Andrés has money, it’s just…” she trails off and Martín raises his eyebrows.

“Just what?” he asks.

Raquel shrugs. “Sergio seems nice, doesn’t he?”

“I suppose so,” Martín allows, unsure how Raquel could ever have noticed Sergio when Andrés was right there all afternoon.

“Well,” she says with a shake of her head. “You should probably eat and go hide somewhere Arturo can’t find you and try and bully you into working an extra shift.”

Martín does as she suggests and spends the entirety of his very late breakfast trying to work out just why he feels so off.

The strange feeling continues into his set and while he plays perfectly, he doesn’t enjoy it like he usually does. He spots Sergio and Andrés at a table in the crowd and for a moment he thinks Andrés winked at him, but he’s certain he must have been mistaken.

Raquel pounces on him the minute he comes off stage to a satisfyingly loud round of applause.

“Change of plans!” she says, dragging him into a corner, her hair still in its curlers, dress half undone.

“Raquel what are you talking about?” he hisses, reaching out to straighten her flapper-style dress for her. She lets him fuss for a moment, then takes his face in both her hands so that he’s looking right at her.

“Forget about Andrés de Fono-whatever,” she says and he frowns.

“Why?”

“Because I got a tip about a much bigger fish, that’s currently on board.”

His eyes widen as he finally recognises her dishevelment for excitement. “How much bigger.”

“How does 160 million euros sound?” Raquel asks and Martín chokes on his own spit. “Because Tatiana Dioli is currently on-board with two chaperones and she is the sole-heiress of the Dioli fortune.”

“Are you kidding?” he asks and she shakes her head.

“I am deathly serious. Come and look,” Raquel says and drags him over to one of the little gaps that allow people backstage to see out into the audience. “She’s there, at the table just to the left of the bar. The one with the red hair.”

Martín squints, trying to see what exactly Raquel is pointing at. He finally sees her, pretty enough for a woman, seated at a table almost directly in front of where he’d spotted Andrés.

“So what’s our angle?” he asks.

“I don’t know yet,” Raquel says. “But I know she’s single. Maybe we can try and set her up with you?”

“I’m gay, Raquel.”

Raquel waves a hand. “Pff, details. What does it matter when there’s 160 million euros on the line?”

Martín nods reluctantly. “True, but… vaginas, Raquel.”

“You’re ridiculous, cariño,” she says fondly. “We’ll figure something out, okay? I need to go get ready.”

“Good luck tonight,” he tells her. “Let’s get breakfast tomorrow, okay?”

She nods and blows him a kiss, before hurrying off into the dressing room. The minute Raquel enters, Tokyo exits, looking suspicious.

“What are you two up to?” she asks. “Why are you standing in a corner looking smug?”

“Why aren’t you on stage yet?” Arturo asks from behind her, making this the only time Martín has ever been glad to see him. He sneaks off while Arturo berates Tokyo.

* * *

Martín hangs about the bar for a bit, wheedling as much of the top shelf whiskey out of Helsinki as he can, before Julia, who looks much more beautiful than she did the last time he saw her, puts a stop to it.

“Julia, please,” he whines and she shakes her head. He removes his moustache, undoing his bowtie and letting it hang loose under his collar. "Please?"

“No. I’m grateful that you got me this job, but I’m not losing it on my first night,” she says firmly. “Besides, I want to be called Manila now. I refuse to be the only one without a cool city name.”

“They’re not cool,” Denver says. “It was just a stupid idea from management so they didn’t have to remember anyone’s real names and ours stuck.”

“Still,” Manila says, placing a glass of mediocre whiskey in front of Martín. “I won’t be excluded.”

He sips his drink, deems it alright and nods at her. “Manila it is. I’m going to go smoke. Denver, give me one of the packets of cigarettes we all pretend that we don’t know you hide under the bar.”

Denver scowls, but hands over a packet and a lighter. “Don’t come back, we don’t want you mooching about now that some of the real customers are coming in.” He nods at the crowds streaming out of the theatre.

“Fine,” Martín huffs, flouncing out through the glass doors. He makes his way past the milling passengers and onto the highest deck you can get to without special access keys. He had a set made of course, he just doesn’t want to start unlocking squeaky metal locks.

The top deck is thankfully deserted and he braces his forearms against the railing, lighting up one of Denver’s cheap cigarettes.

He blows smoke out into the night air and drinks more of the whiskey Manila gave him. It really isn’t that bad – and he’s probably too drunk to appreciate the good stuff now anyway.

He’s just stubbed out the cigarette when he hears footsteps, but he doesn’t turn until he hears the person speak.

“You played very beautifully tonight,” a man says and Martín is surprised when he turns and sees Andrés walking towards him. Martín leans back against the railing, even though it digs into his back uncomfortably.

“Thank you,” he says, as Andrés approaches slowly, looking handsome in a moss-green dinner jacket.

Andrés offers him a hint of a smile. “You’re very talented. It’s nice to see that you’re not just good at counting cards.”

Martín goes red. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Don’t be,” Andrés says, moving even closer and Martín wonders for a brief moment if he’s going to get thrown overboard. “It was impressive.”

Martín smiles, feeling a little braver from the alcohol. The plan to blackmail either Andrés or Sergio may no longer be necessary, but that doesn’t mean he can’t sleep with Andrés anyway.

“I’ve been told that before,” he says and Andrés laughs.

“I’m sure you have.” He reaches out, one hand settling on Martín’s jaw. His thumb strokes over Martín’s top lip, making his breath catch. “Where did your moustache go?”

Martín shrugs. “It’s only for performances.”

“I like you better without.”

“I… I always thought it makes me look distinguished,” Martín says as Andrés’ thumb moves to the corner of his mouth.

“Oh it does,” Andrés purrs. “But it hides too much of your face.”

Martín’s bites his lower lip. “So, four ex-wives?” he asks, because already he can’t bear to be rejected by this man.

One corner of Andrés’ mouth rises faster than the other as it pulls into a smile. “Clever,” he says. “I do really like women. Almost exclusively. But you…”

“Me?” Martín breathes and Andrés closes the remaining distance between them, mouth pressing hard against Martín’s.

Martín kisses back immediately, letting Andrés grasp his face between both his hands, and back him all the way against the hard, metal railing.

“Bet you have a cabin,” Andrés says, breathing hard when they finally part.

Martín presses a kiss to the side of his jaw. “Bet yours is nicer,” he says, only half teasingly.

Andrés grins. “Bet yours doesn’t share a wall with my brother.”

“Fair,” Martín says with a breathless laugh.

Andrés steps away just far enough enough to let Martín pull himself together and peel himself off the railing he’d half melted into. Then he tugs him in by his open bowtie and kisses him hungrily.

“Andrés,” Martín whines. “If Arturo sees us, I’m fucked.”

“Mhm, then let’s go. That rather seems like it’s my job not his,” Andrés says, grabbing Martín’s hand and letting him lead the way to his cabin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh i hope you liked this? i rlly wanted to do the film justice and incorporate a lot of canon stuff too, idk if it worked  
> 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is later than i expected, i'm really sorry.  
> uh... no TWs that i can think of

Martín decidedly doesn’t blush when he and Raquel walk into the dining room for breakfast and see Sergio and Andrés already sitting at one of the round tables. Sergio is engrossed in a book, ignoring his brother who is reading a newspaper.

Raquel guides Martín to the breakfast buffet and Martín tears his eyes away from Andrés, trying not to remember how it had felt to wake up with Andrés’ arm thrown across his waist, Andrés’ nose pressed against the back of his neck.

“Hey,” Raquel says loudly, snapping her fingers in front of his face. “Do you want eggs or not?”

Martín looks at his plate which is hovering near the huge metal dish with scrambled eggs. He nods and Raquel dumps a large spoonful on his plate. “Jesus, what is wrong with you? You’ve been weird all morning.”

Martín shrugs. “Just tired, didn’t get a lot of sleep.”

“Oh my god,” Raquel gasps as they move along the food display. She grabs Martín’s arm just as he’s reaching for the toast. “Did you sleep with someone? Who? It wasn’t Helsinki again, was it?”

“No, it wasn’t Helsinki!” Martín hisses, shrugging out of her grasp.

Raquel’s eyebrows pull together sceptically. “One of the guests? Who?”

“Does it matter?” Martín asks, finally getting his toast and a little dish of butter. “Can we go sit down now?”

Raquel nods and they walk to their usual table in a sunny corner of the large room. Raquel smiles and nods as they pass Sergio and Andrés. Martín chokes on air as Andrés gives him a lascivious look over the top of his newspaper while his brother remains oblivious beside him.

“You bastard,” Raquel says once they’re at their table. “It was Andrés, wasn’t it?”

“Keep your voice down,” Martín insists as they sit down and he waves over one of the waiters. Once he’s ordered them some coffee, Raquel leans in again.

“Was it for the scam? Did you take pictures?”

Martín shakes his head. “It wasn’t. He came and found me. And no, I didn’t. Not during anyway.”

“So after? Show me!” Raquel demands and Martín digs out his phone, pulling up the photo of himself in bed with a still sleeping Andrés. Raquel studies it, a soft look on her face. “It would be enough if you just wanted to blackmail him to not let people know you slept together.”

“I suppose so.”

“Oh,” Raquel says quietly, as if she’s put together the clues in a criminal case. “You like him.”

Martín frowns. “I don’t know him.”

She waves a dismissive hand nearly hitting the waiter who’d returned with their coffees. Once he’s deposited their drinks and left again, she reaches out, grabbing Martín’s hand. He allows it for a moment, before pulling away again.

“There’s nothing wrong with it, you know,” she says sincerely, eyes soft.

“Wrong with what?” he questions stubbornly.

Raquel sighs. “With liking him. I’m sure he likes you too. Would he have slept with you otherwise?”

“You don’t have to like someone to sleep with them,” Martín insists.

“That’s true, but you’re allowed to let yourself have things. Good things. You know that, right?”

“Sure.”

Raquel doesn’t look convinced, but thankfully drops the subject, allowing him to finish the rest of his breakfast in peace.

“Oh, did you hear?” she asks as he’s draining the last of his coffee and debating going back to his cabin to get the cigarettes he stole from Denver last night.

He frowns. “Hear what?”

“One of the old ladies that takes Salsa courses from Nairobi has accused someone of stealing from her cabin,” Raquel says.

Martín rolls his eyes. It happens almost every journey, that someone accuses one of the staff members of stealing. “What is she saying was taken?”

Raquel grins. “That’s the best part. Nothing!”

“What?”

“She says one of her diamond bracelets has been stolen and replaced with a fake.”

Martín laughs out loud at that. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Nope,” Raquel says, amusement clear on her face. “She’s absolutely convinced. Says that her bracelet had a distinctive scratch on the clasp which is now gone.”

Martín shakes his head, but a part of him wonders whether maybe the old lady really is telling the truth. It would be a very clever scam for someone to run – if it is one of course. He’s almost disappointed he didn’t think of it himself.

“And just what are you two laughing about like school girls?” a voice asks and Martín near jumps out of his skin when a hand finds its way onto his shoulder.

He turns to see Andrés and Sergio standing behind him.

“Just passenger complaints,” Raquel says, offering Sergio a sunny smile that makes him blush.

Andrés’ hand remains on Martín’s shoulder, fingers curling into his shirt, thumb pressing gently into the back of his neck. “Who would ever find something to complain about? Everyone here seems so eager to please,” he says and Martín goes red.

Raquel turns her laugh into a quick cough and then asks the brothers their plans for the day.

“We were going to go on shore when we arrive in Casablanca soon,” Andrés says, thumb rubbing against Martín’s skin, making him shiver.

“That sounds fun, Casablanca is a wonderful place,” Raquel says to Sergio.

Sergio tears his eyes away from where Andrés’ hand is resting on Martín’s neck, and smiles nervously, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I’ve heard that. You um, you should come with us.”

“Sergio’s just hoping he’ll have an excuse not to go to the mosque with me,” Andrés says. “But he would love your company.”

Raquel actually blushes and Martín feels a wave of affection for his friend as she looks hopefully at Sergio. It’s been a long time since he’s seen her like this and if this strange man with an incredibly hot brother will make her happy then who is he to judge.

“Raquel has the day off today, so she’d love to go with you. She really knows her way around Casablanca by now,” he says, trying to sound encouraging.

“That would be nice,” Sergio says and then he and Raquel sort of stare at each other in a way that turns Martín’s stomach just a little.

“What about you?” Andrés asks him, voice pitched a little lower and Martín is absolutely not thinking about how Andrés had sounded last night – or this morning when he woke up.

Martín shrugs. “What about me?”

He doesn’t know why he’s now trying to keep Andrés at a distance, he just has the horrible feeling that Andrés is exactly the kind of man with whom he has no future, but could be his downfall anyway.

“What are you doing today? Do you want to come on-shore with us, or is your horrible boss making you work?” Andrés asks.

“No,” Raquel answers for him. “Martín and I usually have the day off to do business in Casablanca, but our partners cancelled. So he’s free.”

“Perfect,” Andrés practically purrs. “So maybe Martín wouldn’t mind coming to see the Hassan II Mosque with me?”

“I’m sure he won’t,” Raquel says and Martín’s glad she doesn’t continue and say that he’s already been there many times. He used to have a crush on a man who worked there – a foolish infatuation to pursue in a country where homosexuality is illegal.

Andrés smiles and Martín hates how much he already loves that smile being directed at him.

They agree to meet on shore in two hours and Raquel departs first, heading to her cabin to change. Andrés nods and says he needs to do the same, which makes Sergio frown and say he’s going to go onto the deck to watch the ship dock.

Martín shrugs and decides to go back to his cabin for the time being. He leaves the dining hall and makes it halfway to the lifts before someone grabs his arm. That someone turns out to be Andrés.

“What are you doing?” Martín asks as he’s dragged away from the busy hallway and into the rarely used stairwell.

Andrés smiles and backs Martín against a wall. “Do you want me to explain it to you or should I just show you?”

“Show me,” Martín whispers and then Andrés is kissing the living daylights out of him.

Even though Andrés stayed until he needed to worry about Sergio noticing his absence in the morning, Martín hadn't been convinced the other man would still be interested in him in the cold – and sober – light of day. Clearly he needn’t have worried because Andrés’ interest is apparent as he moans into Martín’s mouth, hands clutching at his neck, his hair.

“Huh?” he manages when Andrés releases him and the other man grins.

“I wanted to do that all through breakfast.”

Martín blinks. “You did?”

“Of course,” Andrés says. “So, want to come up to my cabin?”

“We have to meet the others,” Martín says.

Andrés shrugs and glances at his watch. “Not for another hour and forty minutes. That gives us more than enough time to have some fun and clean up after.” Martín is nodding before he knows it and Andrés grins. “Perfect.”

* * *

They’re late, because of course they are. Raquel and Sergio are standing next to the gangway when Martín and Andrés descend hurriedly. Well, Martín is hurrying. Andrés is walking elegantly in his immaculate summer suit and hat, looking for all the world like a movie star from the 40s.

Martín had only had enough time to put on the clothes he was wearing when Andrés dragged him into his cabin, so he’s nowhere near as fancy.

Raquel is in a pair of knee length chinos and a bright blue blouse that brings out her eyes and Martín is tempted to chuck some water at Sergio, who’s jaw is practically on the floor.

“Ready to go?” Raquel asks, the look on her face letting Martín know that they haven’t been subtle at all.

Martín nods and they start to walk into the town proper.

They leave Sergio and Raquel at the bustling central market and then because of the heat Andrés decides they should take a taxi to the mosque.

It’s a quick journey and Andrés is the perfect gentleman, sitting a decent amount of space away from Martín, which is probably for the best. Most taxi drivers are discreet, but Martín doesn’t want to risk anything.

They pay the driver and exit the taxi, following the crowds towards the huge mosque. Andrés stops, admiring how the building juts out into the Atlantic ocean.

“It’s beautiful,” Andrés says, shading his eyes against the glare of the sun.

Martín nods. “It’s even more so inside.”

Martín follows Andrés as he moves towards the minaret.

“I’m sure you’ve been before, but I appreciate you coming with me,” Andrés says sincerely, smiling over his shoulder at Martín.

Martín clears his throat and nods. “Yeah uh… well, like Raquel said we usually do business in Casablanca, but our partners cancelled. Better than being on the ship.”

“Flattering to know I’m your last resort,” Andrés teases.

“Of course you aren’t,” Martín insists, colouring. He points up at the minaret. “The second tallest in the world, it’s over two hundred metres high.”

Andrés follows Martín’s line of sight. “The things we do to prove our love and devotion to merciless gods.”

“Ridiculous to waste your life doing something for a made up man in the sky,” Martín murmurs.

“Oh, I don’t know,” Andrés says, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Religion has given us many things of beauty, things of passion.”

Martín shakes his head. “There are other things that inspire passion that aren’t used to oppress countless minorities.” He’s surprised himself at how bitter he sounds and blinks, taking a deep breath. “What?” he asks, when he sees Andrés staring at him, dark eyes unreadable.

“Nothing,” the other man says, adjusting his hat. “Shall we go in?”

“Sure,” Martín says with a nod.

Andrés gestures for him to lead the way and they join the crowd heading for the guided tour.

“Was it everything you dreamed it would be?” Martín asks, a teasing lilt to his voice when they emerge an hour and a half later.

Andrés smiles. “I know you’re joking, but I found it very inspiring. There’s nothing like taking in other people’s art to fuel your own.”

“So you’re an artist?”

“Of a sort,” Andrés says. “I’m not the type to work office jobs, I’ve always found the day-to-day… tiresome and not at all for me.”

“Mysterious,” Martín says with a grin and Andrés bumps his shoulder. “So where would you like to go now?”

“What about some lunch?” Andrés suggests.

It takes a while, but they eventually find a café to Andrés’ liking. Martín’s actually been there before with Raquel, it’s quaint with good food – although it definitely capitalises on the success of the _Casablanca_ film by having a pianist playing inside, the music filtering out into the warm afternoon air.

They snag a table under a wide sun-shade and Andrés orders them an aromatic tea and slices of chicken bastilla.

“Do you get to do this often?” Andrés asks, when their food arrives.

Martín shrugs. “Sometimes, with Raquel. We don’t make a habit of it though.”

“So you don’t make a habit of taking handsome strangers to bed and then escorting them around Moroccan cities?” Andrés asks, sipping his tea.

“Strangely enough, no,” Martín says. “I don’t meet handsome strangers that often.”

“Call me selfish, but I’m sort of glad to hear that.”

Martín laughs, but it’s short lived. “You know this?” he gestures between them. “I don’t usually do this.”

“Sleep with passengers?” Andrés asks, a smirk still playing on his lips.

“No I do that a lot, it’s why Arturo hates me,” Martín says, startling a laugh out of Andrés. “I mean the rest. The day out in Casablanca, the cards with your brother and Raquel.”

“What are you saying?” Andrés asks.

Martín bites his lip. “I don’t know. Maybe I just needed you to know.”

“Why?”

“Because I like you,” Martín says, trying to follow Raquel’s advice. He can have good things and Andrés seems like one of them. “And while I have no expectations, that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t mind this continuing for the duration of your stay on the ship.”

Andrés considers him for a moment. “Well, Sergio and I are only on the cruise until Yucatán, but I have to admit that you intrigue me, Martín Berrote. I don’t know what a man like you is doing working on a cruise ship, when five minutes after meeting you it became clear to me that you’re the sort of man who should be turning the streets of Madrid to gold. So maybe you should raise your expectations a little.”

Martín blinks. “Uh.” It’s ridiculous really how this man he barely knows manages to render him speechless.

Andrés smiles. “That means that I’d also like to continue this. Until Yucatán,” he says, raising his tea cup in a mock toast.

“Until Yucatán,” Martín repeats.

The pianist starts playing a familiar song and Martín groans. Andrés raises an eyebrow at him.

“Are you not a fan of the film?” he asks and Martín shakes his head.

“I always thought it was too sad,” he explains. “The way they don’t stay together in the end. She leaves him behind.”

Andrés purses his lips. “I disagree, I find it very romantic. She leaves for love, because of her love for him.”

“If she loved him truly, she would have stayed. Or found a way to take him with her,” Martín argues. “In the end, what’s he left with when she’s gone?”

“With the knowledge that she loved him.”

“What good is that, when she could have him instead?” Martín asks and there are those dark eyes on his again, studying him like he's some sort of language Andrés has yet to learn.

“At least they’ll always have Paris,” Andrés says eventually, making Martín laugh, effectively breaking the tension.

“Very true,” Martín says. “And we’ll always have the MS Sovereign.”

“Not quite the same, is it?” Andrés asks with a laugh.

Martín shakes his head. “I suppose not.”

“Will you kill me if I ask you to play ‘As Time Goes By’ the next time you’re on stage?” Andrés asks, eyes twinkling, foot rubbing up and down Martín’s calf underneath the table.

Martín sighs. “Do you know how many time that’s requested once we’ve passed Casablanca?”

“Oh I can imagine. Will you do it anyway?”

Martín shakes his head.

“Oh come on,” Andrés purrs. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

“Fine,” Martín relents. “But if you ever say ‘Play it again, Martín’ or some variation of that then I swear I will kill you and only the fish will know what happened.”

“Fair,” Andrés agrees with a nod. “What do you say we get back? I’d like a shower before dinner tonight. Are we still dining together with you and Raquel?”

Martín nods. “I would like that. And I’m sure your brother would too.”

Andrés smiles fondly. “He is rather smitten isn’t he? Raquel seems like a wonderful woman.”

“Smart as a whip and twice as deadly,” Martín says and Andrés smiles widely.

“Just what Sergio needs.”

It feels strange to separate from Andrés at the ship, after having spent the whole day together. Martín glances over his shoulder to make sure Arturo isn’t lurking anywhere near them and presses a brief kiss to Andrés’ mouth before stepping into the lift.

Andrés, hat in hand, has the audacity to wink at him and then say: “Here’s looking at you, kid.”

Martín flips him off and the last thing he sees before the lift doors slide shut is Andrés, his head thrown back in laughter, teeth white against his tanned skin. Martín seriously has to pull himself together to not giggle like a school girl.

He feels almost giddy as he returns to his cabin, throwing open the door.

“What are you looking so happy about?” Raquel asks, making him jump when he sees her sitting on his bed.

“Nothing,” he says unconvincingly. “How was your day out with Sergio?”

A slow smile blooms on her face and he can’t help but return it.

“That good, huh?” he asks and she nods.

“He… he really listens to me when I talk. I didn’t know men could do that,” Raquel says softly.

“Rude,” Martín says as he pulls his t-shirt over his head.

“You know what I mean,” she says and he nods. “He’s just… he’s kind. And so smart, I think he could give you a run for your money.”

Martín snorts, stepping out of his shorts and pulling off his socks. “Let’s not go that far. I have an engineering degree, remember?”

He walks into the bathroom and drops his boxers on the floor before stepping into the shower. Once the water’s running and he’s pulled the shower curtain across, he hears Raquel follow him into the bathroom.

“Of course I remember, you never stop talking about it,” she snipes and he pouts even though she can’t see it.

He shampoos his hair and then sticks his head out past the curtain to glare at her. Raquel is sat on the closed lid of the toilet and laughs when she sees him.

“Your hair is ridiculous right now,” she teases and he sticks his tongue out at her.

“Shut up and tell me more about Sergio,” he says, disappearing back into the shower to wash the shampoo out of his hair.

She sighs loud enough for him to hear. “I don’t know, I feel stupid talking about someone I’ve known for two days like this, but… He just feels different, Martín. Does that make sense?”

Martín pauses his rinsing, glad she can’t see him. He thinks about Andrés, about how he’d said Martín should raise his expectations. He swallows hard. “Yeah, yeah it does.”

He washes himself quickly as Raquel talks about wandering through the market with Sergio, who had at once been wary of getting swindled and also intent on speaking to every stall owner in Arabic.

He shuts off the shower and almost immediately, Raquel’s arm appears, nudging the curtain aside a little so she can hand him a towel.

“Don’t pretend you’ve never seen this body in all its glory before,” he says as he winds the towel around his waist.

Raquel laughs. “Yeah and it was never by choice. You never lock your door.”

Martín pulls back the shower curtain and points an accusing finger at her. “And you never knock, young lady.”

Raquel studies his chest. “Wow, Andrés really wanted to leave some marks, huh?”

“Shut up,” Martín mumbles as he steps up to the mirror to study the bruises Andrés’ devouring mouth had left across his skin.

Raquel pinches the little bit of fat on his hips that he’s never been able to get rid of and laughs again. “You’re so cute when you’re embarrassed.”

“I will throw you overboard,” he threatens.

“Pff,” Raquel says dismissively. “If you haven’t thrown Tokyo overboard yet, then you won’t throw me.”

“True,” Martín sighs, walking to his tiny closet. “Help me find something to wear to dinner, I felt like a slob next to Andrés today.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Raquel says. “Just because he dresses like a Mediterranean Count Dracula, doesn’t mean you have to.”

Martín laughs. “Good point. By the way, have you had any more thoughts on our multi-millionaire?”

“Not really,” Raquel says with a sigh as she sorts through Martín’s suits. “We need to get close to Tatiana, but I have no idea where to even start. She’s on a private floor, and we don’t have the access levels to even get near there.”

“Uh, yes we do,” Martín says. “Remember when Arturito got really drunk at the Christmas party last year? I stole his keys and had a second set made.”

“Oh my god, I can’t believe I forgot that!” Raquel says. “Remember when he threw up in the potted plant?”

“I’d really rather not,” Martín mumbles.

“So how about tomorrow or the day after, we go up to her floor – ‘accidentally’ bump into her and see if we can maybe offer her a private performance or something, see if we can find a way to get to know her a little,” she says and Martín nods.

“Sounds like a plan.”

* * *

Any thoughts of the plan have summarily leaked out of Martín’s ears along with the rest of his brain by the next morning.

“Will that be enough to make up for you having to play ‘As Time Goes By’ tonight?” Andrés pants against Martín’s neck.

Martín groans and pats Andrés’ sweaty back. “I’ll play whatever you want, every night, for the rest of the cruise.”

Andrés laughs and rolls off Martín, moving up the bed so he has his head on a pillow. Then he manoeuvres Martín until he’s on his side, one leg thrown over Andrés’, head cushioned on his chest.

“I don’t think that will be necessary, cariño, but I appreciate the offer,” he says, hand caressing Martín’s side.

Martín sighs. “I have to be in the piano bar in an hour and I’m about ninety-five percent sure that Arturo is going to make me work all afternoon too.”

“I thought you were working this evening?” Andrés questions.

“I am, but this is what it takes for me to get the day off in Casablanca,” Martín mumbles against his collarbone. “Double shifts for the next two days.”

“Arturo’s a cruel man.”

“He’s just a small man trying to abuse the most power he’ll ever get,” Martín says and he feels Andrés’ amusement in his chest.

“The world trembles before small men wielding power,” Andrés says and Martín would roll his eyes if he could keep them open.

“He’s a manager on a cruise ship, not Napoleon. Don’t give him that much credit.”

Andrés tilts Martín’s chin up for a kiss, before sliding out of the bed.

“Not that I don’t enjoy the view,” Martín says as he watches Andrés pick up his clothes from where he’d meticulously folded them the night before. “But you don’t have to go just yet.”

Andrés throws him a smile over his shoulder. “As much as I wish that were true, I have to meet Sergio for breakfast.”

Martín pouts and Andrés winks at him. He bends down to pull on his trousers and somehow manages to knock over the stool his clothes were piled on. He gathers them up and then frowns at the ground.

“Oh, I assume these are yours?” he asks, holding up Martín’s keyring.

Martín nods. “Yeah, they’re mine. Weird, I usually keep them on the dresser. Just put them on the desk and I'll put them away later.”

Andrés does as he’s told, dropping the keys onto the flimsy desk with a clatter. “Will you be able to make it to dinner tonight if you’re working?”

Martín nods. “Sure, I just need to be in the theatre for eight. If you’re there on time too, I may or may not be inclined to fulfil some of the song requests I’ve gotten.”

Andrés finishes buttoning up his shirt. “Then I’ll see you tonight at dinner.”

He bends down to kiss Martín one last time, before exiting the cabin as gracefully as he does everything else.

* * *

Work is hell, of course it is. If one more person asks him to ‘My Heart Will Go On’, he’s killing everyone in the piano bar and then himself. By the time Raquel comes to collect him for dinner, he’s fuming.

She slips her arm through his as they walk to the dining hall together. “Don’t be so glum, at least you have dinner to look forward to.”

Martín scowls. “Yes and then three more hours of work after that.”

“It’s not all bad, at least Sergio and Andrés will be there,” Raquel says consolingly, but she draws out Andrés’ name a little just to embarrass him.

“Stop it, we’re not on a playground,” he scolds and she laughs.

“Then why are you blushing like a little girl?”

They bicker all the way to the table where Sergio is waiting. He bumps into two chairs as he gets up to greet Raquel, but Martín has to admit the kiss he presses to her cheek is rather sweet.

“Where’s Andrés?” Martín asks once they’re seated and Sergio gives him a long-suffering look that tells him he’s not being at all subtle.

“He’s primping of course,” Sergio says. “All he did all day was lie on deck, but he said he needed to shower before coming to dinner.”

Raquel laughs and Martín tries his best not to look too fond. They order some wine, but abstain from ordering food just yet.

The waiter has just appeared to pour their wine, when Sergio focusses on something over Martín’s shoulder, eyebrows pulling together. Martín turns and sees Andrés wearing a heavily brocaded silver jacket, striding across the room towards them. At his side is Tatiana, the millionaire’s daughter, looking like she was made for Andrés in a black dress with silver detailing that almost exactly matches Andrés’ jacket.

Martín exchanges a look with Raquel who looks just as confused as he feels when Andrés and Tatiana arrive at the table.

“Everyone, may I introduce the lovely Tatiana?” Andrés says smoothly, gesturing to the red-head, one hand on her waist. “Tatiana, this is my brother Sergio and our friends Martín and Raquel who work on-board.”

Martín manages to choke out a polite hello along with the others. Tatiana smiles prettily, her cheeks dimpling as Andrés pulls her chair out for her.

Raquel passes them the wine and Andrés nods in approval at the vintage.

“Martín picked it,” Raquel says pointedly.

Tatiana smiles at him. “You have excellent taste, Martín.”

“I always thought so,” Raquel says, her smile just a little too wide.

Martín tears his eyes away from Andrés when he comments on the menu, leaning into Tatiana’s space familiarly. Instead, his eyes focus on his empty plate – he suddenly doesn’t feel at all like eating.

There’s a gentle nudge to his foot and he looks up to see Raquel looking at him with concern in her eyes.

“Sorry, it’s been a long day. What were you saying?” he asks and she purses her lips.

“The waiter was just asking if you’ve decided on what you want to eat.”

Martín looks across the table to see that their waiter had indeed reappeared. “Oh uh, I’m actually not all that hungry. I had a big lunch. I’ll maybe get something later tonight.”

Raquel frowns at him, but the waiter just nods and moves on to Andrés and Tatiana.

“Oh, I just don’t know. It all looks amazing,” Tatiana says, biting her lip indecisively and Martín doesn’t miss how Andrés’ eyes track the movement.

Andrés leans in to look at the menu over her shoulder. “May I recommend the snapper? It’s delicious,” he purrs and Martín drains his wine.

Raquel, proving herself to be a true friend, tops it off without comment.

“Ooh, that does sound good,” Tatiana says, then turns to the waiter. “I’ll have the snapper please.”

The waiter nods. “And you, sir?”

“I’ll take the pasta,” Andrés says and the waiter promptly disappears, leaving behind a slightly awkward silence.

“So,” Raquel asks after a moment. “Andrés, how do you know Tatiana?”

Tatiana laughs. “It’s the funniest thing, isn’t it Andrés?” Andrés nods and smiles indulgently and she continues. “I was just getting into the lift, on my way down to dinner and Andrés appears behind me, asking me to hold it. So I did and on the way down we got to talking. It turns out he used to know my father – before he passed away that is.”

Her mouth turns down and Andrés places a gentle hand on her shoulder. “He truly was a great man.”

Tatiana sniffs and nods. “Anyway, when I told him I would just be dining alone, he invited me to dinner with you all. It’s incredibly kind of you to include me by the way.”

Raquel smiles encouragingly and Sergio twitches. “It’s not a problem,” he says and Martín wants to throw up.

“Well,” Raquel says, throwing a worried glance at Martín. “It’s always nice to make new acquaintances on cruise ships.”

“I agree,” Andrés says and Martín abruptly gets to his feet.

“Are you alright?” Raquel asks and Martín nods.

“Yes, sorry. I just realised Arturo wanted to see me before my performance and I ought not keep him waiting,” Martín says, tongue tripping over the words.

“Oh of course, you’re the pianist here,” Tatiana says, looking delighted and he nods curtly. “I look forward to hearing you play later.”

Martín clenches his jaw, eyes firmly fixed on the air between Sergio and Raquel. “Thank you. Well, if you’ll excuse me.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, just exits the dining hall as fast as he can. He stops by the bar to bully Denver into giving him some cigarettes. For once, the other man doesn’t argue, he just takes one look at Martín and hands him a pack.

Helsinki eyes Martín with concern, but Martín brushes him off when he asks if he’s alright, just disappears out onto the deck, hiding himself away behind a large vent in the far corner.

He smokes three cigarettes in quick succession and waits for his hands to stop shaking.

He’s just about decided that he had better go inside before he actually is late to his own show, when Manila’s head appears around the side of the vent.

“There you are,” she says, before wedging herself in beside him. “Give me one of those,” she demands and Martín hands her the cigarettes and lighter without complaint.

He lights another one for himself when she’s done and they sit in silence for a moment.

“What’s wrong?” she asks and Martín exhales more smoke.

“Why do you care?” he responds and she sighs.

“You seem like you could do with a friend.”

“And you think you owe me because I got you the job? It’s fine, we really did need a new bartender. Now go away.”

Manila elbows him in the ribs. Hard. “No, don’t be a dick, Palermo. I’m trying to be nice, because the one person in that bar who gives a shit about you, feels too awkward to go after you since you dumped him.”

“Helsi told you I dumped him?” Martín asks with a frown.

“Didn’t you?”

“I suppose so. It was for his own good. What we had was supposed to be casual and he developed feelings. I wanted him to get out before he got too hung up, so he could find someone to have a real relationship with.”

Manila’s silent for a moment. “That’s actually sort of nice… selfless even.”

“Thanks,” Martín snorts.

“Any time,” she teases, gently bumping her knee against Martín’s. “Don’t you have a show you should be getting to?”

He nods. “Yeah I suppose.” He gets to his feet, leaving the cigarette carton on the ground next to her. “Tell Denver thank you for the cigarettes,” he says and she nods. “And, thank you, Manila.”

She smiles. “This means we’re friends now by the way.”

“I’m actually okay with that,” Martín shoots over his shoulder before making his way to the theatre.

He arrives two minutes before he’s due to begin and he flat out ignores Arturo when the man starts griping.

There’s the usual applause from the crowd when Martín walks on stage, and his eyes are automatically drawn to wear Andrés is sat between Sergio and Tatiana, Raquel on Sergio’s other side.

He resolutely turns his head away and seats himself at his piano, the place he feels most comfortable. He doesn’t play any requests, instead choosing to play some of the more complex classical pieces that require his full attention. He pours his heart into each note and when he finally finishes and bows, the crowd applauds raucously.

He manages to keep his eyes cast to the ground as he walks off stage, deliberately not looking to see how close Andrés and Tatiana are sat.

“Well done,” Arturo tells him and Martín can’t even bring himself to come up with a witty response.

He’s halfway to the lifts, when he hears Andrés call his name. He sighs, turning to face the other man.

“You didn’t play ‘As Time Goes By’,” Andrés says with a frown when he reaches Martín.

Martín shrugs. “Too many other requests.”

“Really? Most people don’t even know the names of those pieces you played.”

“What can I say, we have some educated passengers,” Martín mumbles, turning to leave again.

“Wait,” Andrés says, reaching out to grab his wrist. “What’s wrong? You’ve been off all evening.”

“I’m surprised you noticed.”

Andrés raises an eyebrow. “Is this about Tatiana? Because I assure you, I just wanted to offer the daughter of an old business partner some company.”

“And I’m sure she appreciated your company,” Martín says venomously.

Andrés sighs. “Really, Martín, there’s no reason for you to be jealous.”

“You’re right there isn’t.”

“Martín, be reasonable,” Andrés says and Martín sighs tiredly.

“Is there something you want?”

Andrés nods, stepping closer. “You?”

“Don’t be cheesy.”

“Is it cheesy if I mean it?” Andrés asks sincerely, pressing closer, one hand sliding onto Martín’s waist.

“Yes,” Martín says, but he can feel his resolve crumbling.

“Come to my cabin?” Andrés implores, pressing a kiss to the corner of Martín’s mouth. “Just to talk?”

“Fine,” Martín says, giving in to the urge to kiss Andrés properly.

They step into the next lift together and Andrés keeps a firm grip on his waist the whole way to his floor. Martín is pulled into a kiss the minute they step out into the hallway and they blindly stumble their way down the corridor, refusing to separate.

“Need to let go to unlock the door,” Andrés mumbles against Martín’s lip when they finally reach his cabin.

Martín kisses him firmly, then pulls away a little. “I’ve got it,” he says and slides a hand into each of Andrés’ jacket pockets. “Aha,” he announces when he feels the sharp metal teeth of a key.

He pulls it out of Andrés’ pocket, except it turns out to be more than one key. A whole keyring goes clattering onto the floor and when Martín bends to pick it up he frowns.

“Hey, these look like my keys,” he says slowly, looking them over. Except they can’t be because Andrés put them on his desk this morning and they were there when he left for work.

Andrés looks pale and Martín’s stomach twists.

“Andrés, these look exactly like my keys,” he says, his voice breaking. “Did you copy my keys? Did you steal my keys and have copies made?”

“Let me explain,” Andrés starts, his hands up in a defensive gesture.

Martín shakes his head. “What do you even need them for?” he asks and then closes his eyes as realisation washes over him. “Tatiana,” he says slowly. “She’s on a private floor, with only two other cabins and a private lift. You need a key to get up there.”

He opens his eyes again to see Andrés staring at him, jaw clenched. “Martín, please just listen to me.”

“No. You’re here to try and get her money, aren’t you? And you needed me to do it, needed someone with access keys!” Martín accuses as Andrés shakes his head.

“No. That’s not the whole story,” Andrés insists.

“It’s more than enough. You’re just… you’re just some cheap conman.”

Andrés’ eyes flash dangerously. “Oh and you aren’t? Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn't you and Raquel tried to hustle Sergio and I at cards the first day we met? You think I don’t know all about you, about your diamond scheme in Casablanca? Sergio did his research before we came on board.”

“Fuck you,” Martín spits and the anger seems to drain out of Andrés. “What about Raquel? Is Sergio just using her too?”

Andrés shakes his head. “No, she was never part of the plan. I… I believe Sergio really likes her.”

Martín ignores how much that hurts. “Then we have nothing more to say to each other.”

“Don’t go. Let’s go inside and talk about this rationally,” Andrés begs.

Martín shakes his head. “No. I’m done. And for the record? This is exactly why I don’t have expectations of people. I get my hopes up and end up looking like a fucking idiot at the end of it all.”

He turns and strides back towards the lift, ignoring Andrés calling after him. Martín angrily wipes away the tears that burn at the corners of his eyes, determined not to cry. Andrés doesn’t follow him and when Martín gets into the lift and turns around, the hallway ahead of him is empty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thoughts? also, I'm sorry for the horrendous amount of casablanca references, it's one of my favourite films (also sorry for any inaccuracies when it comes to the actual city - I've never been, can you tell?)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs for canon-typical violence, mentions of uh premeditated cheating (not Andrés and Martín/ Sergio and Raquel cheating on each other), canon-typical derogatory and homophobic language

Martín is angry. He’s mad, he’s pissed off, he’s furious, he’s resentful, he’s sad, he’s unhappy and he’s upset but he’s not heartbroken. Broken hearts are for little girls with crushes. Martín is a grown man who never had a heart to give away in the first place.

So Andrés was using him to get to Tatiana. It doesn’t matter. Martín was using him too, he is probably going to use the selfie he took after the first time they had sex and blackmail Andrés with it. No, not probably. He is definitely going to. He already fleeced him at cards, no matter that Andrés caught him. He could have fleeced him again. It’s what Martín does. He cons other people out of their money and he doesn’t get upset when they try to con him. It’s a dog eat dog world. He just didn’t see the bite coming this time.

“Palermo if you’re just going to play depressing dirges again why don’t you give up your performance slot for the dancers?” Tokyo teases him.

Nairobi snickers and Martín doesn’t even have the energy to flip them off. He pats his moustache into place and half-heartedly straightens his tie. He passes Raquel on the way out and she offers him a smile that he ignores. He knows it isn’t her fault that Andrés is an asshole and Sergio isn’t, but he’s still managed to avoid her for the last few days. He just doesn’t want to hear about how happy she is right now or how she's sure it'll get better for him soon.

There’s applause as he steps out onto the stage, a huge fake smile plastered to his face.

As he takes his place at the piano, he sees Andrés sat with Tatiana at one of the tables. Sergio is on his other side and looks like he’s doing his best to ignore the way Tatiana is leaning into Andrés’ side, the way his hand is resting comfortably on her thigh.

Martín focusses on the familiar feeling of the piano keys under his fingertips, trying to ground himself a little. He takes a moment and then begins to play.

Rachmaninoff was never his favourite, but this concerto feels fitting tonight. Ordinarily he would have preferred to perform it with an accompaniment, but Arturo had got rid of his favourite band members due to budget cuts and it’s almost appropriate to be performing it alone now.

He allows himself to get lost in the music, playing well even for his standards and making it through the tricky second half with energy and precision that would have made his old piano teacher proud. When he finishes, he pauses for a moment, soaking up the rapturous applause, before he moves on to the next piece.

It’s not a replacement for being liked (or loved) he knows that. But he immerses himself in the crowd’s praise and attention. It makes the wounded part of him that he’s been carrying around in his chest for the last four days feel a little better, a little less pathetic and useless. These people don’t even know him but they love him. They love his talent, his gift, he is loved.

Raquel grabs his arm when he comes off stage. Her eyes are earnest and wide.

“Martín please, can we talk? After the show?”

He misses her and he wants to say yes, he does. But every time he looks at her he’s reminded of how stupid he was to trust Andrés, how she had sincerely told him he deserves good things right before Andrés crushed him under the heel of his expensive shoe. He sighs.

“Not tonight. Tomorrow okay?”

Raquel frowns. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Some new dealers for the casino were hired in Casablanca,” Martín says with a shrug. “Thought I’d go try my luck.”

“Are you crazy?” Raquel hisses. “If you get caught then –“

“Then what? You know Arturo can’t fire me ever since I found out about him lying to get hired – and the captain certainly won’t fire me,” Martín interrupts.

“What about Gandia? He doesn’t care about any of those things!” Raquel insists.

Martín waves her off. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Raquel.”

She calls his name again, but then Arturo appears demanding to know why she hasn’t gone on stage yet and she hurries away, throwing one more worried glance over her shoulder.

Martín dodges Arturo and heads towards the on-board casino, pulling off his moustache and stuffing it in his pocket as he goes.

The casino is relatively empty when he gets there. He gives the room a quick once over and is pleased to find that he can’t see Gandia anywhere. He makes his way through the scattered guests towards the bar. Denver’s girlfriend Mónica is working tonight, her curly hair pulled away from her face and piled on top of her head. She frowns when she sees him leaning on the bar.

He offers her a winning smile. “A double whiskey please.”

“I thought you were banned from here?” she says, eyes narrowed.

Martín feigns offence, clutching at his own chest and she rolls her eyes but laughs anyway.

“No,” he says. “I wasn’t officially banned. It was just suggested strongly that I leave and never come back.”

Mónica sighs. “Just be careful, okay?”

“Sure I will. Now how about that whiskey?”

Mónica glares again, but does fetch him a whiskey, setting it down in front of him with a lot less complaint than Denver or Rio would have.

“Stay away from the poker table,” she says when he makes to leave with his drink. “The new guy's pretty close with Gandia.”

Martín takes a sip of his drink. “And where is our glorified traffic warden today?”

Mónica shrugs. “I don’t know. I think he’s got the evening off.”

“Perfect. I’ll see you later then.”

“Be safe,” she says and he offers her a genuine smile before heading to the blackjack table.

* * *

He’s lucky, the new blackjack dealer seems bored with the already half-drunk tourists and isn’t really paying attention when Martín joins. He manages to win six rounds and makes a tidy sum off one of the guests who keeps piling more and more chips onto the table before the dealer even starts to frown at him.

He disappears to get another drink before the dealer has properly twigged that Martín had been card counting and Mónica can’t hide her smile when he shows her the stack of chips.

“You’re not going back are you?” she asks, when he downs his second drink and gestures for a third.

He grins. “Why not? That other blackjack table is calling my name.”

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mónica says and he waves away her concerns.

“It’ll be fine Mónica. How about I take you and Denver out for dinner at the next port? Since you’ve kept me nicely in whiskey for my winning streak.”

“Martín I’m serious, if you’re reported…”

“Who’s going to report me? You said yourself that Gandia isn’t here tonight.”

Mónica bites her lip worriedly but Martín just grabs his drink and walks over to the second blackjack table.

This dealer is older, clearly more experienced and Martín has to deliberately lose two hands before he starts a winning streak. He only allows himself three wins before he faux-stumbles away from the table.

Mónica must be on a break and the other bartender doesn’t bat an eyelid when Martín orders two drinks at once. He leaves one empty glass at the bar and takes the full one with him to the poker table. The new dealer at this table doesn’t look all that intimidating or particularly smart and there are some blatantly rich guests losing money here – if Martín is missing out on 160 million euros then he’s going to scam both the stupid boat and the stupid tourists out of everything they have.

He’s probably a little too drunk to be on top form but so are most of the other players and he spots a couple of very nice watches that he decides he might be able to get his hands on if the chips run out. He takes a seat and nods at everyone there.

One of the men at the table gives him a lingering smile and Martín returns it hazily. Maybe he won’t just get some cash out of tonight.

Most of the guests are atrocious players. They have obvious tells that mean he doesn’t even need to start calculating probabilities most of the time. One man – the one whose Cartier watch Martín is already coveting – is a bit sharper than the others, taking it more seriously even as his much younger wife giggles inanely next to him.

Martín watches him more closely than the others and quickly figures out that the guy calls bluffs only when his wife kisses his cheek. Apparently, she’s not as dumb as Martín assumed.

Still, he’s not good enough to beat Martín and when most of the guests are out of chips – and a watch, although it’s not the Cartier one – Martín makes his excuses to leave and slides off his chair. The dealer narrows his eyes suspiciously and Martín throws him a cocky wink as he leaves.

Mónica is back at the bar this time and grins when she sees the chips even though she shakes her head.

“Mónica, querida, don’t be so disdainful,” he says and she laughs although she quickly sobers.

“I’m just worried, you know that most of us wouldn’t have jobs without you.”

He snorts. “Maybe someone should remind Tokyo of that, she’s being particularly obnoxious at the moment.”

Mónica laughs again and then raises her eyebrows at something over his shoulder. He turns to see the guy who smiled at him at the poker table coming towards them.

He’s really quite attractive, tall with dark hair and dark eyes, just a few years younger than Martín maybe.

“Uh, hi,” he says when he reaches the bar.

Martín smiles. “Hi,”

“I uh… I’m Marco and I just wanted to say you played really well,” Marco says, blushing heavily and Martín can’t help but find it endearing.

“Martín,” he introduces himself, holding out his hand for Marco to shake. “And thank you, you played well too.”

Marco blushes again as he laughs. “Well, I didn’t lose all my money so I guess that counts for something.”

“I would say so.”

Marco shifts nervously. “So um… you’re the piano player here, right? I saw you on my first night.”

Martín nods and Marco smiles hesitantly.

“You’re really good,” he compliments and Martín could get used to an attractive man praising him for everything he does.

“Thank you,” Martín purrs. “Would you like to join me for a drink, Marco?”

The man nods enthusiastically and Martín turns back to the bar to find Mónica already waiting attentively.

“What can I get you two?” she asks brightly and Martín is going to kill her if she embarrasses him.

“I’ll take another whiskey,” he says and turns to Marco who has hopped up onto the barstool next to him. “What would you like?”

“Oh um,” Marco looks flustered as he studies the menu over Mónica’s shoulder. “A cuba libre? Please?”

She nods and turns away to make the drinks.

“So are you enjoying your time on board?” Martín asks.

“Yeah, it’s so nice,” Marco says. “I’m glad I came.”

Martín raises his eyebrows. “You had to be persuaded?”

Marco suddenly looks downcast. “Yes, my boyfriend and I broke up – long distance just wasn’t working – and I was… Well, I suppose wallowing is the word. My best friend dragged me along and she’s already said, ‘I told you so’ about three times today.”

“That’s not very nice of her,” Martín says with a laugh and Marco shrugs.

“No, she’s right. She told me I’d have fun and meet nice people and I have.” He blushes again as he says that and oh, Martín likes him. “Although I’ve been a bad friend to her since I managed to get sick for the first week, I could barely leave my suite. Poor thing was dining alone most of the time.”

“Well, I’m certainly glad you’re better now. Is this friend expecting you to join her anytime soon?”

Marco shakes his head. “No, she’s off having dinner and drinks with some guy who used to work with her dad. So I’m alone for the evening.”

He looks up at Martín from under his lashes and Martín laughs. “Subtle. Well, how about we take these drinks outside? The stars are uniquely beautiful on the open ocean and then we can see where the night takes us.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” Marco says jovially, getting to his feet.

“I’ll see you later,” Mónica says, handing them their drinks.

Martín winks at her. “No you won’t.”

He leads Marco out of the casino and they go up a level before emerging into the balmy night air on one of the open decks. Martín seats himself in a chair by one the railing and Marco takes the one next to him, staring with awe-filled eyes up at the sky.

“You were right,” he says. “The stars look so different from here.”

Martín smiles. “It’s one of the few perks of working on the ship.”

Marco frowns, tearing his eyes away from the night sky. “You don’t like it?”

“It’s okay,” Martín says with a shrug. “Not exactly what I thought I’d be doing with my life.”

“You didn’t want to be a piano player?”

“Not at all. I actually went to university and studied engineering. Got a degree and everything,” Martín admits.

“Really?” Marco asks. “So what happened?”

“The usual, I guess. Sometimes life just doesn’t work out the way you planned.”

Marco nods and Martín takes a fortifying sip of his drink.

“Well, I don’t know much about engineering, but I’m sure you would have been good at it.”

“Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” Martín says and strangely he thinks he actually means it.

The other man grins at him, teeth white and perfectly even and Martín wonders if maybe someone is looking out for him by sending Marco his way so he can get over Andrés. He shuffles a little closer to Marco who puts a hand on his knee, wide smile softening a little.

“Okay?” Martín asks as he leans in a little and when Marco nods, he kisses him.

It’s a good kiss, better than good if he’s being honest. And yet there’s something nagging him in the back of his brain, something that reminds him there’s someone he’d much rather be kissing. He tries to rid himself of the niggling thought as Marco’s hand slides off his knee, instead finding its way to Martín’s waist.

Marco pulls away, face flushed but happy. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Your place or mine?” Martín asks with a grin.

“Well, my friend paid and we have a suite on one of the private floors,” Marco says teasingly. “The bed is… very big.”

“Your place it is,” Martín says and Marco laughs.

He takes Martín’s hand in his own and they walk back inside the ship. Martín is just debating whether or not to kiss Marco again as they turn towards the lifts, when someone grabs him from behind.

He’s wrenched away from Marco and sees Gandia, dressed all in black, looming over him.

“Gandia,” he tries. “It’s lovely to see you.”

“Is it, sudaca?” the security guard spits.

Martín drops the pretense. “No. Now let me go, as you can see I’m escorting a guest back to his room.”

Gandia turns to look at Marco. “Sorry to interrupt your evening, sir, but this is a serious security matter. If you could please leave us?”

Marco looks hesitantly between Martín and Gandia.

Martín nods at him. “It’s okay, Marco, you can go. But if you could go to the bar and let the tattooed bartender know that I won’t be able to meet him tonight that would be lovely. His name is Helsinki. If he’s not there, ask for Denver.”

Marco frowns, but nods and scurries away. When he’s gone, Martín returns his attention to Gandia who still has one hand curled aggressively in the collar of his shirt.

“What do you want?” Martín hisses.

Gandia smiles cruelly. “I got a call from one of the dealers that a certain piano playing faggot has been cheating at cards all night. You’ve been stealing from the ship again.”

“It’s not stealing if I win it fair and square.”

“But it’s not fair, if you’re counting the cards, is it?”

“Sounds fair to me,” Martín quips and is promptly slammed against the wall for his efforts. “Why do you even care? It’s not your money!”

“It’s about the principal of the thing. People like you shouldn’t be allowed on the ship, let alone to be allowed to blatantly steal and harass guests like you do,” Gandia snarls.

Martín scoffs. “So what are you going to do about it, Gandia? You know neither Arturo nor the captain will fire me. Especially not if a known homophobe like you is the one accusing me.”

Gandia shoves him again, hard enough that Martín’s head cracks off the hard wall. “Oh I know all that. So I’ve just decided to teach you a lesson.”

“A lesson?” Martín asks, struggling against the security guard’s grasp as he starts to drag him outside.

“Exactly. The kind you aren’t likely to forget.”

He should see it coming, he really should, but he’s blindsided by the punch to his jaw. It makes bright spots explode in front of his eyes and he stumbles back as Gandia pursues him. The security guard lands several successive blows to his ribs and all the air rushes out of him.

He kicks out desperately and his foot connects with Gandia’s knee, although the man recovers quicker than Martín does. He drives forward again, hand snapping out and crunching against Martín’s nose, pushing him even further back.

Martín cries out when his back hits the railing and he genuinely starts to fear that Gandia is going to throw him overboard and leave him to drown. He lashes out blindly, trying to ignore the pain from his face and ribs and lands a weak punch to Gandia’s mouth.

The guard pulls back for another shot at Martín when suddenly there are voices and he’s being dragged away. Martín collapses onto the floor and then Andrés is there, crouching in front of Martín in a cream coloured suit, eyes dark and worried. He produces a cloth handkerchief, pressing it gently to Martín’s still bleeding nose until Martín takes hold of it himself. Behind Andrés, he can see Helsinki and Denver dragging Gandia away as he spews slurs and curses at the two of them.

Andrés is suddenly shoved out of the way and Raquel is flinging herself at Martín. She cradles his face with firm but gentle hands. There’s concern in her eyes and they’re a little wet, but mostly she just looks angry.

“You idiot,” she says. “I told you to stay away! It told you.”

He groans as she starts probing his jaw. “I know, I’m sorry. But in my defence, I thought Gandia was just a homophobe, not a psychopathic one.”

She laughs and it sounds a bit like a sob but neither of them mention it and she pulls him into a hug as gently as she can.

“Are you alright?” Andrés asks from beside Raquel and Martín nods slowly, trying not to look at him.

“Martín!” another voice cries and all three of them turn to look as Marco hurries towards them. “Are you alright?”

Martín offers him a bloody smile. “I’ve been better. Thank you for getting help.”

Marco looks pale as he nods. “I’m sorry wasn’t quicker. I never imagined he’d hurt you.”

“It’s okay, none of us did,” Martín says, trying to comfort him.

“I’m glad you were able to get us,” Raquel tells Marco warmly, although the way she squeezes Martín’s hand tells him she has questions for him. “Thank goodness we were there when you were looking for Helsinki and Denver.”

“We?” Martín questions, eyes darting between her and Andrés.

Raquel gives a slight nod. “I was having drinks with Sergio and Andrés when we heard Marco asking for them at the bar.”

“And of course since Tatiana was with Andrés, she wanted to know what was wrong with me,” Marco cuts in and Raquel looks guilty. “Thankfully your friends were able to help me find the bartenders.”

Martín blinks. “Tatiana?”

Marco nods. “Yes, she’s my best friend? The one I told you about? Anyway we all rushed here as quickly as we could and not a minute too soon!”

“All of you?” Martín asks dumbly.

“Yes of course,” Marco gestures over his shoulder and Martín can in fact see Tatiana hovering near the doors.

“Well that’s… nice of you,” Martín says and Raquel squeezes his hand again, a guilty expression on her face.

“We should get you to your room,” she says, getting to her feet and reaching out a hand for Martín to take.

He grabs her hand but doesn’t seem to have the strength to pull himself upright even with her help. He doesn’t even realise Andrés has moved until there’s an arm around his waist, helping him up.

“Uh thanks,” he says and Andrés smiles. Martín hates him and sort of wants to kiss him at the same time.

One of Andrés’ hands lingers on his waist and then Helsinki and Denver are hurrying over and the hand is gone.

“Palermo,” Denver yells, pouncing on him and grabbing him into a rough hug.

“Denver be gentle,” Helsinki says pulling the younger man off Martín who throws him a grateful look. “Are you alright?”

Martín holds his gaze for a moment and then nods. “I’m okay, thank you Mirko.”

Helsinki’s mouth twitches into a smile at the mention of his Christian name and Martín smiles back.

“What did you do with Gandia?”

“Threw him in the brig,” Denver says with a scowl. “The captain has been informed and that Sergio guy is still talking to him.”

“Sergio?” both Raquel and Andrés ask simultaneously.

Helsinki nods. “He said he wanted to talk to the captain.”

“And the captain agreed?” Raquel asks incredulously and both Denver and Helsinki nod again. “Well that’s…”

“Unheard of?” Denver asks. “Yeah I know.”

Raquel nods in agreement. “Well, I should get Martín to his room.”

“I’ll help you,” Andrés immediately says, but before Martín can protest, Marco intervenes.

“You can’t leave Tatiana,” he insists, nodding at the red-head who is still stood somewhat forlornly by the doors. “I’ll help Martín back to his room.”

“Oh, you don’t have to,” Martín tries. “I’m sure just Raquel will be fine.”

Marco shakes his head with a little smile. “It would be my pleasure, besides our evening was cut short.”

“That would be very helpful of you,” Raquel says before either Andrés or Martín can speak. “Thank you, Marco.”

He beams. “Of course. Oh, I have a brilliant idea. Since we all seem to know each other, why don’t we have lunch together?”

“You mean you and me, and Raquel and Sergio, and…” Martín trails off.

“And Tatiana and Andrés!” Marco finishes enthusiastically. “Wouldn’t that be great?”

Martín nods and wordlessly exchanges a panicked look with Raquel which Marco doesn’t seem to notice.

“That would be lovely,” Andrés says smoothly, his smile just a little too wide to be genuine.

“Perfect! Then we’ll see you tomorrow, Andrés,” Marco says, inserting himself between Martín and Andrés and wrapping a supportive arm around Martín.

Andrés throws Martín an uninterpretable look before walking over to Tatiana and guiding her inside the ship.

Martín deflates as he watches him go and lets Raquel and Marco support him on the lengthy walk back to his room. By the time they get there and Raquel has helped him onto his bed, he’s ready to sleep for a week or maybe just a brief coma.

“Thank you, Marco,” Martín says sincerely as the other man steps away.

Marco waves a hand. “It’s okay. I’m only sorry we couldn’t have the night we wanted.”

“Me too,” Martín says, although he can’t help thinking of Andrés and how gentle he was when he tried to stem the bleeding from Martín’s nose. He still has the handkerchief clutched in one fist.

“Well, I’m sure Raquel can take it from here. I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow then,” Marco says.

Martín nods. “You will.”

Marco hesitates, throwing a look at Raquel, before he darts forward and presses a gentle kiss to Martín’s lips. “Sleep well, I hope you feel better,” he says and then he’s gone.

The minute the door closes, Raquel is dragging Martín’s desk chair towards the bed so she can sit facing him.

“So,” she says slowly. “Marco.”

Martín scowls at her. “So, drinks with Andrés and Tatiana?”

She sighs. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want to hurt you, it’s just –“

“Sergio, I know,” Martín interrupts. “I’m happy for you, Raquel I am. I just… A part of me can’t help but wish it wasn’t him.”

“Me too,” she says sadly. “I don’t like you hurting.”

He shrugs, wincing when it jars his ribs. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up. Besides, Andrés is just doing what we were going to do.”

“I guess,” Raquel says but she doesn’t look entirely convinced.

“Does Sergio know what his brother is doing?”

Raquel nods. “Yes, he does. I still can’t tell whether he approves or not.”

“I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually,” Martín says with a sigh.

Raquel grimaces, then shakes herself out of it. “Alright, take the shirt off so I can see the damage.”

“I’ll be fine,” Martín protests. “I’ve had worse. Remember how I grew up?”

“Not a good enough excuse. Take the shirt off and I’ll go get the first aid kit from my room,” she orders before disappearing.

It takes him longer than it should to get his shirt unbuttoned and to then shrug out of it. Raising his arms hurts and he curses Gandia in every language he knows because performing tomorrow is going to be hell. He kicks off his trousers and then crawls back onto his bed. Thankfully, Raquel reappears quickly and Martín is surprised to see she has Sergio in tow.

“Gandia is being fired and then handed over to the police once the ship returns to Spain,” Sergio says bluntly.

Martín gapes. “Uh… what?”

Sergio blinks and looks down at his feet, suddenly looking embarrassed. “I uh… spoke to the captain. Told him you had a good case for suing both Gandia the ship for workplace harassment and various damages and well… it was a hate crime after all so once that was made clear he was happy to agree to anything.”

“Oh,” Martín says looking at Raquel who looks equally shocked. “Thank you.”

“I just wanted to help somehow,” Sergio says. “I’m sorry about Andrés. I told him there were better ways to get the keys.”

Martín feels ice flood his stomach at the mention of Andrés and how he used Martín. “Yes well… I suppose he has what he wants now, that’s not your fault.”

Sergio shifts uncomfortably. “I suppose not.”

Silence stretches between them until Raquel breaks it by bustling forwards with her first aid kit. She gently probes Martín's ribs, even as he hisses in discomfort.

“I don’t think any ribs are broken, just bruised like your jaw,” she says. “Your nose is broken though, so I’ll have to set it.”

Martín grits his teeth and nods. “Just get it over with.”

Raquel nods grimly and straightens the cartilage with quick, precise movements. There’s an audible crunching and Martín howls in pain, tears springing to his eyes. Across the room Sergio looks a little like he’s going to be sick.

Raquel packs his nose with cotton and then fetches him a glass of water and some painkillers.

“Take these, I’m going to the machine down the hall to get some ice, okay?”

She presses a kiss to his forehead before she leaves again. Martín does as he’s told, swallowing the painkillers with some water, desperate to stop the throbbing in his face.

Sergio is still standing next to the bed, a look of awe on his face as he stares after Raquel.

“You like her,” Martín says and even though it’s not a question, Sergio nods.

“I do,” he admits to Martín. “A lot.”

Martín sighs. “Your brother’s an asshole.”

Sergio actually cracks a smile at that. “Oh I know.”

“You better not be like him,” Martín says, which wipes the smile right off his face. “I know I don’t look like it right now, but if you hurt her in any way, I will hurt you too. In every imaginable way. I will ruin you, Sergio, do you understand?”

Sergio nods, and while he looks adequately intimidated, he also looks determined. “I understand.”

“Good,” Martín says cheerfully just as Raquel appears with a bowl of ice and some tea towels.

She wraps ice in one of the towels and instructs him to hold it against his nose, then starts slathering arnica all over his jaw and ribs. By the time she’s done, the painkillers have started to kick in and Martín yawns.

“Try and get some sleep,” she says and he nods carefully. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning to check on you, alright?”

“Thank you, Raquel,” he says and she smiles before leaving, her hand in Sergio’s.

* * *

He’s been asleep for what feels like mere seconds when he’s woken by a soft rapping on his door. He flicks on his bedside light, groaning.

“It’s open,” he calls, since he never made it out of bed to lock the door behind Raquel and Sergio.

The door opens, but instead of Raquel or Helsi or even Denver walking in, Andrés enters the room. He closes the door softly behind him and crosses to sit on the desk chair, looking as comfortable as if it were his room instead of Martín’s.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Martín asks blankly.

Andrés, still dressed in the same cream coloured suit as earlier sighs. “I came to see how you are because I was worried about you.”

“You were worried?”

“Yes,” Andrés says with a nod. “And I also wanted to apologise. I have for a couple of days but you’ve been avoiding me.”

Martín sneers. “I wonder why that is.”

“I’m sorry,” Andrés says sincerely. “I shouldn’t have taken your keys and made copies to get to Tatiana.”

“That’s what you’re sorry for? Not for lying and using me?”

“I didn’t lie.”

“Oh really?” Martín scoffs. “So you weren’t just fucking me to get at my keys?”

“I wasn’t.”

Martín blinks, wrong-footed by how earnest Andrés sounds. “You weren’t?”

Andrés almost smiles. “No. When I first met you I had no idea you had copies of the keys. I knew you were a member of staff which meant you could be useful, but I never meant for it to go this far.”

“What does that mean?” Martín asks, far too tired and sore for riddles. “You know, I liked you Andrés. And you really fucking hurt me.”

“I know,” Andrés admits. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, but Tatiana’s money…”

“It was too good an opportunity to pass up,” Martín finishes and Andrés nods.

He sighs. “Although I see now that I’ve created a rival for her fortune, through my actions. Going through the best friend was an idea I discarded quickly, but Marco really seems to like you so it might work. Tatiana would do almost anything for him.”

“What are you talking about?” Martín asks with a frown. “I didn’t know Marco was here with Tatiana until she showed up when you guys came to help me with Gandia.

Andrés raises his eyebrows. “You didn’t? So you and Marco were…”

Martín doesn’t know why he flushes when he nods. “We met playing poker, he came to speak to me after and we decided to get drinks.”

“Oh,” Andrés says, clenching his jaw, eyes darkening. “Well, it’s late, I should leave you to rest.”

He gets to his feet and makes to leave but Martín grabs his wrist as he walks past the bed.

“Andrés wait, what’s wrong?”

Andrés shakes his head. “Nothing.”

Martín suddenly gasps. “Wait a minute, are you jealous?”

Andrés’ jaw clenches further. “And if I am?”

“Then I’d tell you that you have no right to be.”

“I know that.”

“Then why are you jealous? You have Tatiana. I’ve seen you together at my performances. You’re sleeping with her, right?” Martín asks, trying not to let the hurt seep into his voice.

Andrés nods. “Yes, but I want her money, not her.”

“I don’t have any money,” Martín says slowly.

“I know.”

“You already have my keys.”

“I know that too!” Andrés says angrily.

“Then what do you want from me?” Martín demands.

“You!” The word rings out across the room, even though when Andrés spoke, it was barely above a whisper.

“Me?”

“I can’t explain it,” Andrés says stiffly. “This wasn’t part of the plan.”

Martín laughs. “I can’t believe you, you’re ridiculous. First you use me for my keys and now you’re telling me that what? You want me?”

Andrés scowls. “I told you it wasn’t about the keys. They were… a perk.”

“A perk?”

“Yes.”

Martín sighs. “So what now?”

Andrés shakes his head slowly, moving closer, but he doesn’t return to the desk chair, instead perching on the edge of the bed. “I’m not sure. But I know that I enjoyed what we had. I know that I didn’t enjoy losing it.”

“Neither did I,” Martín admits.

“You could join the plan?” Andrés suggests carefully. “It might work better with a two-pronged approach. You already have an in with Marco.”

Martín frowns. “So what, you try and scam Tatiana and I try and scam Marco?”

“Yes,” Andrés nods.

Martín looks down at his blanket, picking at a loose thread. “And where does that leave us?”

There’s movement from the edge of the bed and Martín looks up just in time to see Andrés leaning in. He fits their mouths together gently, acutely aware of Martín’s broken nose, hands avoiding his bruised jaw and instead cupping the back of his neck.

Martín sighs into it, all too conscious of the fact that this – whatever it is he has with Andrés – is what he was missing with Marco. Still, he eventually pulls away, one hand splayed across Andrés’ cheek.

“What are you doing? I know it’s fake to you, but you’re technically with Tatiana.”

“So?” Andrés asks. “I don’t want to have to give up either you or the money. Why can’t we have it all?”

Martín shakes his head. “We’ve barely known each other two weeks Andrés.”

“When has something as little as time mattered, in comparison to something as big as this?”

“And what is this?” Martín demands.

Andrés smiles. “I don’t know, but we’ll never find out if you don’t give it a chance.”

Martín groans. “This is ridiculous, this isn’t how relationships work.”

“I’ve been married four times, Martín,” Andrés says with a laugh. “I don’t think there’s rules and guidelines for the perfect relationship.”

Martín is still hesitant and Andrés kisses him again.

“Martín, please think of it this way. Do you want to be with me?”

Martín pauses but nods. “Yes.”

“Do you trust me to do whatever it takes to get this money?”

“Yes.”

“Can you try and trust me to not hurt you again?”

“I…” Martín begins, because he doesn’t know. “I can try.”

Andrés smiles again. “Then can we at least try? Please?”

“Fuck it,” Martín says after a long moment. “For 160 million euros? For you? I’ll give it a shot.”

He allows Andrés drag him into another kiss which is no less gentle than the last. When they break apart, Andrés presses a kiss to his forehead and gets to his feet.

Martín frowns. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere,” Andrés says reassuringly as he shrugs out of his jacket. “I’m just getting more comfortable.”

Martín watches Andrés carefully undress and fold away his clothes before climbing into bed next him, dressed only in his underwear. He wraps a careful arm around Martín, allowing him to settle his head on his bare chest.

“That security guard really did a number on you, huh?” Andrés asks, running a hand up and down Martín’s side.

Martín scowls. “He’s a homophobic bastard and he takes me fleecing passengers personally. But at least Sergio has arranged for him to be fired and go to prison.”

“Has he now?” Andrés muses. “Well, I’m sure I’ll find some time to visit Gandia before either him or I leave the ship.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Oh it’s nothing for you to worry about,” Andrés says, pressing a kiss to the top of Martín’s head. “Now we should try and get to sleep. We’ve an heiress and her best friend to scam tomorrow.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahhh this is awful and doesn't really make sense and i'm sorry this took so long to update, but i hope you liked it anyway?? a comment or kudos would make my day!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter got away from me, so you'll have to wait till chapter 5 for the angst bomb, sorry!!
> 
> TWs: canon typical injuries, cheating as discussed in the previous chapter

Martín wakes to something cold on his face. He groans and tries to pull away but a hand on the back of his head stops him.

“Shh,” Andrés’ voice says as he slowly opens his eyes.

Andrés is bent over him, pressing a towel full of ice to his bruised jaw.

“What are you doing?” Martín mumbles when Andrés pulls away.

Andrés returns with a glass of water and some painkillers and shrugs. “You looked like you were in pain, I thought the ice might help.”

Martín accepts the painkillers, grimacing at the pain from even opening his mouth to swallow the pills. “It does, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Andrés says, picking up the wrapped ice again.

Martín lets him ice his jaw, grateful that the cold keeps down his blush at Andrés’ proximity. The other man already looks unfairly good, dressed in a fresh suit, although the jacket has been discarded across Martín’s desk chair and the shirt sleeves have already been rolled up.

“What time is it? I need to get to work,” Martín says, struggling into a sitting position.

His ribs feel like they’re on fire and he’s almost grateful when Andrés presses a hand flat to his chest, gently pressing him back into the pillows.

“No, what you need is rest,” Andrés says firmly, tone brooking no argument.

Martín shakes his head. “No, I have to. If I miss my shift, Arturo will –“

Andrés cuts him off smoothly. “Arturo has already agreed to give you today and tomorrow off.”

“What?” Martín blinks. “How the hell do you know that?”

“Because I visited him this morning and reminded him of how bad it would be for the ship’s ‘aesthetic’ if the passengers were to find out about their favourite entertainer’s brutal assault by another employee.”

Martín gapes and Andrés smirks.

“You’d be surprised how quickly people stop arguing once the word ‘lawsuit’ is mentioned,” he says smugly and Martín laughs breathlessly.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

“Something terrible, I’m sure, to end up in such a ridiculous relationship,” Andrés quips.

Martín raises an eyebrow. “Ridiculous?”

“Two professional con-men falling in love on a cruise ship? Who ever heard of something so unrealistic.”

Martín nods in agreement, trying to ignore how his heart skipped at the way ‘falling in love’ fell casually from Andrés’ lips. “Truly farfetched.”

“How are you feeling in general? Up to some lunch?” Andrés asks with a fond smile.

“Maybe,” Martín says, then narrows his eyes suspiciously. “Why? What are you planning?”

“Well,” Andrés says slowly. “I ran into Marco on my way to see Arturo and he reminded me that you agreed to us all meeting for lunch – he’s very worried about you by the way. Offered to bring you breakfast in bed.”

Martín doesn’t miss the way Andrés frowns as he relays the final part, jealous painted across his face in broad strokes. Martín can’t help the smile that forms at the realisation.

“So, what? You want me to stay here and Marco can come to me?” he asks, purposefully winding up Andrés.

Andrés scowls. “Absolutely not.”

“Why? I thought you wanted me to… get in with Marco.”

“Get in, not get off,” Andrés growls. “Not here anyway.”

Martín frowns, confused by the clarification. “Here?”

“I’m not a hypocrite, I’m not going to ask you not to sleep with Marco – especially if it will help the plan,” Andrés says and Martín feels a sick twist in his stomach at the thought of Andrés and Tatiana together. Andrés’ voice is softer when he continues speaking, more vulnerable. “But just… not here. Please? We should keep this space just for us. To make the, ah, separation of things easier.”

“Separation?” Martín repeats softly. “We’re both adults, I think we can both handle separating our feelings considering what’s at stake.”

Andrés smiles. “I’m sure we can.”

He puts the ice aside and leans in. The palm of his hand feels like it’s radiating heat against the cooled skin of Martín’s cheek and he lets Andrés kiss him, a little more hungrily than last night. When Andrés pulls away, Martín briefly considers telling him to forget about Tatiana and the 160 million, and just asking him to stay in bed. It’s a ridiculous thought though, one he quickly puts out of his mind, allowing Andrés to kiss him once more before helping him out of bed.

“Shower?” Andrés asks once Martín is on his feet.

Martín winces. “I need one, but I’m not convinced I can lift my arms enough to wash my hair. If you go find Raquel, she can help me. She’s done it before.”

Andrés rolls his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous, cariño, I’ll help you.” Martín is a little stunned by the casual endearment, but Andrés seems to interpret his hesitancy differently, because he quickly tacks on an “Only if you’re comfortable with that, of course.”

“No, it’s fine,” Martín says, waving away his concern. “Nothing you haven’t seen before, after all.”

“Nothing I wouldn’t enjoy seeing again,” Andrés practically purrs, any insecurity gone.

Martín laughs and leads Andrés to his bathroom. He’s glad he didn’t struggle into pyjamas last night, because even the thought of having to lift a t-shirt over his head right now is excruciating. Andrés stops him just as he hooks his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear.

“Wait, sit on the toilet a moment so I can take the cotton out of your nose,” he orders and Martín does as he’s told, slowly lowering himself onto the closed toilet-lid.

It’s painful, the blood having dried overnight and glued the cotton to the inside of his nose. Andrés is as gentle as he can be, but it still brings tears to Martín’s eyes and he bites his lip to stop himself from crying out. The cotton being removed makes his nose start to bleed again and Andrés gives him some tissues to hold to it while he undresses.

Martín nearly drops those tissues when Andrés reappears in the bathroom, completely naked. He rolls his eyes at Martín’s appreciative look and when he’s made sure Martín’s nose isn’t bleeding anymore, he chivvies him into the shower.

There’s not an awful lot of room, but Martín has managed to fit both himself and Helsinki, who is bigger even than Andrés, in there before so it isn’t that much of a struggle. Andrés stays at the far end, away from the spray, positioning Martín so he gets the benefit of the warm water, without aggravating his injuries. He’s gentle when he washes Martín’s hair for him, long fingers massaging the shampoo into his scalp, making him sigh in pleasure.

When it comes to rinsing out the suds, Andrés walks him backwards until he’s under the spray, but with one of Andrés’ hands cupped horizontally against his forehead to stop the water getting on Martín’s nose.

It feels like the most intimate thing Martín has ever done with anyone and they don’t even kiss. When they’re done, Andrés rubs Martín’s hair dry for him and then wraps the towel around his shoulders, before he even starts to dry himself off.

Then he bundles Martín out of the bathroom and sits him down on the edge of the bed, before turning to critically survey Martín’s closet.

“What are you doing?” Martín asks. “I didn’t get hit on the head, you know. I don’t need help picking clothes.

“The shorts you wore the day I met you, say you do,” Andrés says snippily and Martín laughs.

“I like those shorts! Besides, they worked on you, didn’t they?”

Andrés looks at him, his eyes dark. “I’m not saying you didn’t look entirely fuckable, but they don’t make you look like the kind of person a high-society man and best friend to a millionaire would seriously date. You looked like the pool boy at a golf club for old, rich gays.”

Martín laughs again. “Luckily for me, you are an old, rich gay.”

“Not gay,” Andrés corrects.

“That’s not the part of the statement I thought you’d object to.”

Andrés throws him a dirty look, before returning to examining Martín’s clothing options.

“Besides,” Martín continues. “I met Marco on my own, and he seemed to think I look fine.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t look better,” Andrés says stiffly, without turning around, meaning Martín gets to stare at his bare back and the precariously slung towel around his waist.

It takes close to half an hour, but eventually Andrés puts together an outfit for Martín that he deems acceptable – a linen suit, white shirt, and a blue neckerchief which Martín is fairly sure belongs to Raquel.

“I look like an asshole,” he complains and Andrés shakes his head.

“You don’t. In fact, if I hadn't agreed to spend time with Tatiana after lunch, I assure you I’d be dragging you back here to pull off that outfit with my teeth.”

“I’ll have to wear it another time then,” Martín says a little breathlessly and Andrés grins, looking entirely too smug.

He takes a step towards Martín, grin turning predatory, as he backs Martín against the wall. He leans in and Martín stretches up to meet him, only for them both to jerk apart when there’s a knock on the door. Martín takes a moment to be thankful that they’re both fully dressed and then goes to open it.

“Hey, I came to check whether you were feeling well enough to come to lunch,” Raquel says brightly.

She’s dressed in knee-length shorts and a blouse, her hair curled and pinned back from her face. Behind her, Sergio is hovering, looking comparatively bland in a plain button-up and slacks.

“I am,” Martín says. “And thank you for last night, I appreciate everything you did to help me.”

Raquel’s smile dims a little. “You don’t have to thank me Martín, we look after each other.”

He tenses, when he feels Andrés appear behind him and Raquel’s smile drops entirely

“What are you doing here?” she asks Andrés, her eyes narrowed. “Shouldn’t you be escorting Tatiana to lunch?”

Martín lifts his hands placatingly. “It’s okay, Raquel. We’ve… we’ve sorted things out.”

“Exactly,” Andrés agrees, one arm wrapping around Martín’s waist.

Raquel looks between the two of them. “Have you now? So you’re no longer trying to scam Tatiana out of her money?”

Martín doesn’t need to look at Andrés to know he’s smiling. “Oh no, I am. But Martín and I have had a conversation about what’s real and what isn’t. What Tatiana and I have is based entirely on my desire to get some of her money.”

“And what you have with Martín?” Raquel prompts, still unconvinced.

“Is something else entirely,” Andrés finishes.

Sergio, who has stayed impassive until now, looks first at Martín, then his brother. “Andrés, the plan…”

“Won’t be affected,” Andrés interrupts. “Martín and I can keep our feelings for each other separate from our necessary relationships with Tatiana and Marco.”

“Can you?” Sergio asks and Martín wonders if he’s missed something with the way he’s staring at Andrés.

“We can,” Andrés says and Martín nods in agreement.

Neither Sergio nor Raquel look completely convinced, wearing scarily similar expressions of disbelief on their faces, but thankfully they both let the subject drop.

Andrés and Martín let Sergio and Raquel lead the way up to one of the open deck restaurants. It’s sunny, but not too hot and Martín can’t take his eyes off Andrés, hair lightened in the sun, skin glowing almost golden.

“Martín,” a voice calls and he turns to see Marco, Tatiana on his arm, crossing the crowded deck.

He smiles as best he can despite the bruises on his face. “Hello Marco, Tatiana. How are you?”

“Good,” Marco says with a smile. “How are you? You look terribly battered.”

“I’ve been better,” Martín admits.

“You poor thing,” Tatiana coos as she releases her hold on Marco and goes to join Andrés.

Martín tries not to feel smug when Andrés kisses her on the cheek and looks at her admiringly, but with none of the heat Martín knows he’s capable of.

Marco steps right into Martín’s personal space, one hand cupping the side of his face as he studies his bruises.

“I’m so sorry about last night,” Marco says sincerely. “I never should have left you.”

Over Marco’s shoulder, Andrés seems to be agreeing with him. Martín can’t roll his eyes at him, instead focusing on Marco who seems genuinely concerned and is clearly feeling guilty about last night.

“No, it’s okay. Gandia would have just found another opportunity to do it, or done it with you there – or even hurt you too,” Martín insists. “You have nothing to be sorry for, I promise.”

Marco smiles, relief colouring his expression. “Well, I am sorry we didn’t get to finish what we started last night,” he says in a low tone.

Martín smirks when he sees Andrés’ expression darken again and he runs a hand up Marco’s arm. “I’m sorry about that too.”

Marco flushes and offers Martín his arm as the group proceeds to the table. They sit down, Martín between Marco and Andrés, with Tatiana on Andrés’ other side. From across the table, Raquel keeps throwing Martín looks that means he’s definitely in for a talking to once they’re alone.

They order quickly and the conversation flows nicely, thankfully not stilted or awkward at all. Tatiana talks about how stressful taking over her father’s business was after his death and while Andrés talks her up, Martín leans into Marco and compliments him on being a good friend to Tatiana in such a difficult time.

If Martín were a better person – less interested in money, or in Andrés – he’d feel worse for taking advantage of someone who seems to be genuinely sweet and kind. Instead, he leans into Marco, sitting as closely to him as he can, blatantly flirting with him all throughout lunch. At the same time, under the table where no one can see, Andrés’ foot is firmly hooked around Martín’s ankle, nudging him every now and then. It’s nice, a reminder that the two of them are in this together even though they’re both ostensibly making eyes at other people.

Since Martín doesn’t have to, or rather can’t, work tonight, he agrees to a dinner with everyone and then to going dancing after.

“Although unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll be able to participate,” he says, gesturing at his face and ribs.

Marco makes a sympathetic noise and reaches out to take Martín’s hand. “We don’t have to go, Martín.”

Martín waves off his concern. “No, no it’ll be fine. I can hold down our table and keep track of everyone’s drinks.”

“It’s still such a shame,” Tatiana says.

“Yes, it really is,” Raquel agrees. “Martín is an incredible dancer.”

Andrés smiles, a little too widely. “Well, Sergio isn’t much of a dancer so at least you’ll be able to partner up with Marco.”

Marco flashes Raquel a smile. “Of course, I’d love to dance with you Raquel, but I don’t want to leave Martín alone all evening.”

“I’m sure we’ll find a way to strike a balance,” Martín assures him.

Under the table, Andrés runs his foot up the back of Martín’s calf and Martín tries to elbow him as subtly as he can.

“Sergio and I were going to take a look around on-shore this afternoon,” Raquel says when their plates have been cleared. “What are the rest of you planning?”

“Ooh, I’ve been wanting to go off ship too,” Tatiana says.

Marco nods excitedly. “So have I!”

“So, group outing then?” Tatiana asks, her smile beatific.

Martín winces and shakes his head. “Regrettably, I’m going to have to decline. Just sitting at lunch has been quite hard. If I’m to have dinner and watch you guys dance the night away, I might stay on board and rest for now.”

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Marco immediately asks.

“No, it’s okay. I’ve seen all the stops many times before. You go and enjoy your day and I’ll make sure I’m rested enough to be able to enjoy our evening together.”

Marco squeezes his hand. “If you’re sure.”

“Of course,” Martín reassures. “I’ll probably just take some more painkillers and then nap.”

Sergio looks at his watch. “How about we meet on the dock in an hour then? Just to give everyone enough time to change and grab what they want to bring on shore with them.”

“Sounds perfect,” Tatiana agrees.

“Then let’s do that,” Raquel says.

The group get to their feet and Martín leans into Marco’s slightly unnecessary support as they cross the deck. When they reach the lifts, Martín grimaces when Marco hugs him a little too tightly. Andrés is thankfully too busy fawning over Tatiana to pay much attention and Martín slips away, slowly making his way back to his cabin.

He wasn’t lying, he really is quite sore and collapses gratefully onto the bed, only bothering to kick off his shoes and throw his jacket in the direction of his chair. He takes some more painkillers and they’ve just started to kick in when there’s a knock on his door.

He groans, expecting it to be Raquel. “Come in.”

The door opens and in a repeat of last night, Andrés steps in.

“Hey,” Martín says, struggling to sit up, but Andrés waves him off and he gratefully sinks back into the pillows. “What are you doing here?”

“I thought I’d bring you an icepack,” Andrés says, crawling onto the bed next to him in a manner Martín would have thought much too undignified for the other man.

He holds up two of the familiar packs of blue gel and then presses one gently to Martín’s side, the other to his jaw. Martín takes over holding the one against his face, leaving Andrés other hand free to slide across Martín’s waist, draping himself across his uninjured side, nosing against the silk neckerchief.

“Not that I’m unappreciative,” Martín says softly, as if afraid to break the peace of the moment. “But don’t you need to get ready for going off-ship?”

Andrés exhales softly against his neck. “I can go off-ship in what I’m wearing now. And I wanted to check on you again.”

“How gallant of you,” Martín teases, sniggering when Andrés gently pinches his side. “At least you’ll have fun exploring.”

“I’m sure I will,” Andrés says. “Of course, it can’t compare with our day in Casablanca.”

“Of course not.”

Andrés smiles and Martín can feel it against his neck. “But I’m sure it will be nice anyway. Under normal circumstances…”

“Under normal circumstances?” Martín prompts after a moment when Andrés doesn’t continue.

Andrés shuffles a little closer. “Well, usually Tatiana would be the kind of woman I’d be looking to marry.”

“Technically you are looking to marry her,” Martín points out and Andrés smiles again.

“I just mean that usually I’d have no reason not to believe her the next love of my life,” he says and Martín’s mouth goes a dry.

He swallows. “Usually? And now?”

“Now,” Andrés says slowly. “Now, there’s you.”

Martín looks down at the man sprawled across him, his dark eyes sincere. It’s the sort of thing he’d always wanted to hear from his past partners and yet… yet Andrés had hurt him. Hurt him really badly in ways the other man probably didn’t even understand. Martín had decided to let him back in, but even now, a part of him can’t help but hesitate, can’t help but wonder if this too is part of Andrés’ con. He can’t see any advantages for Andrés in pretending to care about him – not anymore at least. So he decides not to think any more about the very real reasons he should be less trusting and instead lets the other man kiss him when he leans in. The hand Andrés isn’t using to press the ice pack to Martín’s ribs starts to wander downwards and Martín laughs.

“Trust me, as much as I want that, I don’t think anything can stop me from falling asleep within the next five minutes,” he says apologetically.

Andrés just kisses him again and pillows his head on Martín’s shoulder. “That’s alright, I’ve been meaning to catch up on some sleep.

* * *

They must actually doze off at some point, because they both jerk awake at some very insistent knocking, followed by the sound of someone walking into the room.

“For fuck’s sake,” Raquel says, standing at the end of the bed, arms crossed in front of her chest. “You two idiots didn’t even lock the door. What if Tatiana had walked in?”

Martín yawns and turns back into Andrés’ embrace. “Tatiana doesn’t know where I live.”

“What about Marco, then?” Raquel points out. “You think if he walked in on the two of you like this, he wouldn’t immediately go and tell his best friend that the man she’s falling for is hooking up with the ship’s pianist?”

“You’re right,” Martín admits. “We’ll be more careful.”

Andrés nods his agreement. “Yes, we will.” He’s silent for a moment, contemplating something before he speaks. “You think she’s falling for me?”

Raquel scowls. “Yes. I know I wanted to scam her too in the beginning, but if this blows up in your faces, I’m going to wash my hands of this and say ‘I told you so’!”

“Of course you are,” Martín snarks and he knows if he weren’t already injured, she might have punched him in the arm for that.

“Anyway,” Raquel continues. “I thought I’d come and look for you here, Andrés - since Tatiana stopped by your room and is in a tizzy because she couldn’t find you.”

“I suppose that means I need to go,” Andrés says with a sigh.

He sits up and attempts to smooth his shirt, making Martín laugh and even Raquel smirk.

“Your hair’s all flat on one side,” she points out and Andrés disappears into the bathroom to fix it. Once he’s gone, she turns to Martín. “Are you sure you can handle this?” she demands and he sighs.

“Sure? No. Willing to do whatever it takes to come out of this with both him and the money? Yes,” Martín tells her, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

She purses her lips, but nods. “Alright, as long as you’re sure.”

“Sure about what?” Andrés asks, re-emerging from the bathroom.

Raquel hesitates and Martín answers for her. “Sure about staying here. Which I am.”

“You’ll be missed sorely,” Andrés says and Martín knows it means he’ll miss him.

Raquel glances at her phone. “We need to go, or there’ll be no point leaving the ship at all.”

Andrés nods, but crosses to the bed one more time to kiss Martín goodbye.

“I’ll see you later,” he promises and Martín nods.

“Good luck with Tatiana.”

Andrés smirks, self-assured. “I don’t think I’ll need it, but thank you.”

“Alright, we know you think you’re irresistible, now come on,” Raquel says, practically dragging Andrés from the room and blowing Martín a kiss as she leaves.

* * *

Martín really does mostly sleep while the others are gone and he finds that rest, in combination with the heavy-duty painkillers Raquel supplied seem to have helped his ribs a little. Around seven he drags himself out of bed and starts selecting a suit for dinner.

Without Andrés there to help, it takes him a while to undress and then redress in the appropriate clothing, so he’s slightly late to dinner.

Everyone else is already there, chatting animatedly, but Marco looks up immediately when he approaches.

“Martín, I was just about to come and look for you!” he says as they exchange a kiss on the cheek.

Martín takes the seat that had been saved for him, this time between Sergio and Marco. “I’m very sorry I’m late, getting in and out of clothing is a little troublesome at the moment. I can’t really raise my arms.”

“How did you manage this morning?” Tatiana asks curiously.

Martín panics, searching for an answer that isn’t, ‘your boyfriend and I are in a relationship – I think – and he spent the night and then we showered and dressed together’. Thankfully, Raquel is much better at this than he is and she answers for him.

“I stopped by before I went to meet Sergio,” she says lightly. “We’ve been friends for so long, even helping each other dress is something we’ve done before.”

Tatiana smiles and Marco grins at her. “Oh that’s just like us Tati,” he says and she laughs in agreement.

“It’s really because Raquel has no sense of boundaries,” Martín teases and everyone laughs when she flips him off.

Dinner goes well, with Tatiana seeming as enamoured with Andrés as Martín feels, and everyone recounting their time on-shore to him.

When they’ve eaten and made it through two and a half bottles of wine between them, making Martín more than a little woozy, they head through to the large bar which is hosting the ballroom dancing tonight.

Martín offers to place their drinks order, while the others find them a table and heads over to the bar where both Denver and Helsinki are working.

“Palermo!” Denver says enthusiastically when Martín reaches them. “I’m so glad you’re okay, last night was crazy!”

Martín can’t help but smile at him. “It really was. Thank you again for your help, yours too Helsi,” he adds when Helsinki shuffles over.

“Of course,” he says, flashing Martín a sweet smile.

Denver bounces on the balls of his feet. “Oh my god, did you hear about Gandia?” he asks excitedly.

Martín raises an eyebrow. “Well, I heard he was fired and is going to jail, if that’s what you mean?” Denver and Helsinki exchange a look and Martín frowns. “What?”

“Well, uh,” Denver starts, looking around as if to make sure no one’s listening. “Gandia was taken to the brig last night, but he’s not there anymore.”

“Why?” Martín asks, leaning in against his better judgement.

Denver smirks a little. “Because he’s in the infirmary.”

Martín gapes. “What? Why?”

“Someone broke into the brig early this morning and attacked him. Apparently, there was blood everywhere.”

“Do they know who did it?” Martín asks.

Helsinki shakes his head. “No, the security cameras were conveniently switched off at the time.”

“Interesting,” Martín says and Denver smirks again.

“I thought you’d say that,” he says and Martín nods, unwilling to let on about his suspicions as to what could have happened to Gandia.

“Thank you for telling me. But now I’d better order some drinks before Raquel comes looking for me.”

He gives them their drinks order and Denver assures him Manila will be over with them as soon as she can, since Arturo has her working the floor with only Rio for help.

“We thought you’d got lost,” Andrés ribs when Martín finds them at their table.

He rolls his eyes and sits down next to Marco. “No, but the bar staff happen to be my friends.”

Marco’s face brightens. “Oh, they’re the ones who helped you last night, right?”

“That’s them,” Martín nods. “Where are Sergio and Raquel?”

Tatiana gestures over to the dancefloor, where despite Andrés’ assurances that his brother can’t dance, Raquel and Sergio are cutting a fine figure.

“Excuse me?” a voice asks, just as Martín is about to comment on their dancing. A pretty brunette is hovering at the end of the table near Marco. “Sorry, I was just wondering if you’d like to dance with me?”

Marco looks flustered but pleased and looks over at Martín as if for permission. “Would you mind?”

Martín smiles. “Of course not, just because I can’t dance tonight, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t. Go and enjoy yourself.”

Marco mumbles a thank you and then takes the woman’s hand, leading her out onto the dancefloor.

“Oh Martín,” Tatiana says. “Would we be terrible people if we left to go and dance as well?”

“Of course not,” Martín insists. “Go and have fun, I’ll wait for our drinks.”

Tatiana smiles happily and Andrés brushes a hand along Martín’s shoulder when he passes on his way to the dancefloor with her.

Martín watches them all dance for a while and then amuses himself by trying to guess the age difference between some of the more unevenly partnered couples. It’s quite funny, especially when he studies one couple where the woman seems to be at least thirty years older than the young man currently pushing her around the dancefloor in a rather rigid foxtrot. Despite the endless entertainment, he still finds his gaze drawn back to Andrés.

He and Tatiana look striking together, every inch the high-society couple and Martín wonders what he and Andrés look like when they’re together. Surely not as elegant, or well-matched, but hopefully they look like they fit nonetheless.

“Who’s the red-head?” Manila asks, suddenly appearing next to him with a tray of drinks.

“Took you long enough,” he grumbles instead of answering her question.

By the look on her face, she knows he’s avoiding the question. Thankfully she doesn’t press the issue, moving the drinks from the tray and onto the table.

“Heard about what happened with Gandia,” she says, gesturing at his face. “I’m sorry.”

Martín shrugs. “Nothing anyone could have done… except maybe never hire him in the first place.”

Manila snorts. “I guess so. Still, I hope you’re okay.”

“Of course,” Martín says. “What about you? How’s work.”

“It’s fine, just doing my best to avoid Arturo.”

“Aren’t we all,” Martín mutters, making her laugh.

She stretches, steals a sip of the whiskey she’d brought for Martín and then tucks the tray under her arm. “I’d better get back, I’m sure I’ll see you later.”

“You will,” he promises and watches as she heads back to the bar.

The others – minus Marco – reappear quickly when they realise their drinks have arrived. Tatiana and Sergio are both a little flushed and Raquel reaches for her wine gratefully.

“Thank you for waiting for the drinks,” Sergio says and Martín nods.

“Of course, although now you’re back I might take the opportunity to go to the bathroom.”

He gets to his feet and excuses himself from the table. He’s just turned down the little corridor leading away from the bar and to the attached bathrooms when someone grabs his elbow. He turns quickly, still a little jumpy from last night, but breathes a sigh of relief when he sees it’s just Andrés.

“Sorry,” he says, hand cupping Martín’s face. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Martín rolls his eyes. “What did you mean to do?”

Andrés grins wickedly and backs Martín against the wall. “This,” he says and leans down to kiss him. Martín breaks the kiss quickly, looking over Andrés’ shoulder to make sure the hallway is still deserted.

“You’re getting reckless,” he warns, but lets Andrés drag him into another.

Andrés presses a kiss to his forehead and then another to his chin. “I know, but you’re irresistible even when you have bruises that mean your eyes rival a raccoon.”

“Charming,” Martín says, pinching Andrés’ side. “But I actually do have to use the bathroom and you should get back to your date.”

“Mhm, I should,” Andrés sighs, kissing him again. “But I won’t be able to see you tonight. Tatiana expects me to stay.”

“That’s alright,” Martín says, even though he can’t help but feel a twinge in his chest at the thought of Andrés and Tatiana together.

Andrés studies him. “It is, but that doesn’t mean I won’t miss you.”

Martín laughs. “You’re a sap. Now go.”

Andrés does as he’s told, but not without kissing Martín one last time.

When Martín finishes in the bathroom and returns to their table, it’s just in time to see Raquel drag Sergio back onto the dancefloor. While Sergio admittedly does look fairly awkward next to Raquel, the two of them also look like they’re having a lot of fun. As do Tatiana and Andrés.

Marco and the brunette, who’s name Martín still doesn’t know, look like they’re having almost too much fun and when towards the end of the night, Marco appears looking extremely sheepish, Martín knows what the man is going to say before he even opens his mouth.

“I’m really sorry about this,” Marco says, looking extremely guilty. “I promise I don’t make a habit of picking up strangers.”

Martín shakes his head. “Marco, it’s okay. We kissed a little and never even slept together. You have nothing to be sorry about. Go and enjoy yourself with…”

“Gianna,” Marco supplies and Martín nods.

“Yes, Gianna. Honestly, it’s fine.”

Marco bites his lip, looking torn, but eventually nods. “Thank you, Martín. I’m sorry we never got to have the night we wanted to.”

Martín smiles as he watches Marco hurry off. He didn’t lie, he really doesn’t mind Marco hooking up with someone else – it’s not like Martín is in any state to keep Marco interested that way right now – but the fact that he’s now going to have to watch Andrés spend time with Tatiana, without being able to do the same with Marco is going to be hard.

* * *

Raquel frowns when she and Sergio return to the table. “Did I see Marco leaving?”

“Ah, um, yes,” Martín says. “He and the lovely Gianna rather hit it off.”

“He ditched you?” Raquel asks, eyebrows pulling together angrily.

Martín shrugs. “It’s fine. We weren’t really dating or anything.”

“Still!” Raquel says, looking at Sergio as if waiting for him to back her up.

“I mean, they weren’t dating,” Sergio says. “Besides, him and Andrés are still… In any case it shouldn’t affect the plan, Marco wasn’t really a part of it anyway.”

Raquel nods. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Anyway,” Martín says. “Do you guys mind if I leave? I’m really tired again, those painkillers do not mix well with alcohol.”

“Of course they don’t you idiot!” Raquel chastises. “Will you be able to get back okay?”

Martín tolls his eyes. “Yes of course. If I can find my way to my room after playing – and winning – a drinking game against Helsi, then I can find my way back after a couple of whiskeys.”

“Alright,” she allows. “But I’m coming to check on you tomorrow morning to make sure you’re not face down in your own puke.”

“Isn’t that a lovely image,” Andrés says, arriving back at the table with Tatiana who is wrinkling her nose.

Martín gets to his feet and shrugs. “Blame Raquel. Anyway, I’m going to head to bed. I’m sure I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Sleep well,” Raquel says and Sergio smiles at him.

“Wait,” Tatiana says, grabbing his wrist. “Where’s Marco?”

“He left with that girl he was dancing with,” Raquel says coldly and Martín throws her a sharp look.

“Oh,” Tatiana says, looking crestfallen. “I’m sorry, Martín, I thought you guys really hit it off.”

“It’s okay,” Martín reassures her, although he’s really getting tired of saying those words. “It’s fine. I’m just really tired, so I’m going to go get some sleep. Good night.”

“Good night,” Andrés says and he looks a peculiar mix of concerned and smug. “Please do join us for breakfast tomorrow.”

Martín smiles at him, trying not to look too affectionate. “Good night.”

* * *

He wakes the next morning to find Andrés letting himself into his room, with a suit in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

“Um, hi?” he says, a little confused.

Andrés crosses the room and deposits the coffee on the desk, then hangs the suit from the door of the wardrobe, before perching on the bed next to Martín to kiss him.

“I told Tatiana I needed to shower and change before breakfast,” he says when he pulls away from Martín. “There’s absolutely no reason I can’t do at least one of those things with you.”

Martín laughs. “No, I suppose there isn’t.”

Andrés kisses him again, then starts to unbutton his shirt. “Shower?”

“After you,” Martín says.

When he looks back later, it’s then, enjoying the sight of Andrés stripping in front of him that he really should have realised it was all too good to be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i always say this but i promise to have the next chapter up soon!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TWs: alcohol abuse, suicidal thoughts, breakdowns

It’s strange how quickly Martín’s adapts and he creates a new routine for himself. He spends almost all his meals with Raquel, Sergio, Andrés, and Tatiana. Marco often joins them but he and Gianna seem to have really, really hit it off and he usually never makes it to lunch, let alone breakfast.

After breakfast they often do some sort of group activity that ranges from swimming to bowling to playing cards, where Martín tries very hard not to cheat. Then they have lunch and sit around, sunning themselves on deck until Martín has to leave for his shift in the piano bar. He meets up with the others again before dinner and then he and Raquel have a quick bite to eat before they go on stage.

There’s usually not a lot of time to spare, but he and Andrés make sure to carve themselves out little pockets of time for just the two of them. Martín gets used to waking up every morning to Andrés crawling into bed next to him, a fresh suit hanging in Martín’s closet, cup of coffee on his desk. He gets used to Andrés telling Tatiana he needs the bathroom right before Martín leaves for his shift and letting Andrés drag him into the nearest corner to kiss him silly. He gets used to the way Andrés sighs his name and the way he smiles at him from across the the table and the strangely specific way he blinks the water from his eyes in the shower. The way he nudges Martín’s ankle under the table during lunch, the way he puts on his left sock and shoe first before starting on the right sock, the way he lets Martín curl up against him when he sneaks into Martín’s room early enough for them to still catch up on sleep together.

It all becomes so achingly familiar and as they get closer to Yucatán and the date of Sergio and Andrés’ departure, Martín starts to wonder about after. For the last decade, his life has been bound to the ship, to the endless circle it travels around the Atlantic. He’s never found any reason to leave that circle, to break free and make his own way somewhere else. But now… now he can’t help but wonder what would happen if Andrés asked him to come with him, to leave the ship and spend time together, just the two of them and whatever money they can get from Tatiana.

They’re three days away from Yucatán when Raquel knocks on Martín’s door. It’s late. Late enough that Martín should really be going to bed or risk sleeping through his morning with Andrés. But he and Raquel have always been there for each other and he won’t turn her away now.

She’s dressed in a silk nightgown and matching robe and Martín teases her light-heartedly as he lets her in. She sits at the end of his bed, knees pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them. She looks small and uncertain and Martín frowns.

“Is everything alright?”

Raquel nods, then shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

Martín sits on the bed beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Do you want to tell me what happened? Do I need to hurt someone? Is it Sergio?”

“It is Sergio,” Raquel admits. “But nothing bad.”

“Okay, so what is it then?”

She takes a couple deep breaths, as if unsure where to start. “It’s well…. He…”

“He what?” Martín asks.

“He asked me to leave with him. When we get to Yucatán.”

“Wow,” Martín says stunned.

Raquel is looking up at him, still looking nervous, chewing her lip. She hesitantly reaches out and puts a hand on Martín’s knee. “I said yes.”

“Wow,” Martín repeats stupidly. “So… you’re leaving?”

“I… yes. Yes I am.”

Martín pulls her into a hug, propping his chin on her shoulder. “I’m really happy for you, Raquel. Truly, I am.”

She sniffs, the only indication so far that she’s crying. “Don’t say it like it’s goodbye, Martín.”

“It might be,” Martín says, only half joking.

“No,” Raquel insists, pulling away to hold him at arm’s length and look him in the eyes. “I promise you it won’t be. We’re friends Martín, that means I’m not leaving you for good, okay?”

Martín grimaces, unconvinced. “If you say so.”

“I know so,” she says firmly. “Besides, Sergio mentioned the house they have is big… big enough for two couples.”

Martín’s head snaps up. “You think that Andrés…?”

“He hasn’t said anything to you?”

“No. I thought about bringing it up, what’s going to happen after, but….”

“But you’re scared,” Raquel finishes for him and he nods. “Look, I can’t tell you what to do, or how Andrés feels. But from what I’ve seen of you together, even when Tatiana is around, and from how happy you’ve been, I think you’ve got a good thing going.”

“Yeah,” Martín says softly. “I think we do too.”

Raquel smiles at him. “So you need to ask him… or at least tell him how you feel. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

Martín sighs. “You’re right. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

“Good,” she says, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll see you at breakfast then.”

“Sleep well,” he calls after her as she makes her way to the door.

She stops in the open doorway and blows him a kiss. “I love you, Martín.”

He smiles sincerely. “I love you too, Raquel. I’m really happy for you.”

* * *

When he wakes the next morning, it’s to sunlight streaming in through the porthole. He blinks, automatically reaching out for Andrés and finding only empty space. There’s no coffee on his desk, no suit hanging from the door of his wardrobe.

He checks his phone and sees that he has about ten minutes, if he wants to make it to breakfast with everyone at their usual time. He dresses hurriedly, washing his face in the sink and combing through his hair with his hands before rushing out of his cabin. He makes it to the dining room just in time to see the others tucking into their food.

“There you are!” Raquel says when he slides into a seat between her and Andrés. “I was beginning to worry.”

Martín smiles. “Sorry, my usual… alarm didn’t go off this morning.”

Raquel raises her eyebrows, glancing over at Andrés who hasn’t looked up from his newspaper. Martín shrugs and she frowns.

“Well, we’re glad you’re here now – aren’t we Andrés?” Tatiana says brightly, nudging Andrés who finally looks up from his paper and gives Martín a cursory nod.

“You missed the coffee,” is all he says and Martín frowns, his stomach twisting.

“He can have mine,” Raquel says, nudging her cup towards Martín. “I’ve been meaning to cut down on my caffeine intake.”

Martín accepts the cup, ignoring how Raquel’s eyebrows have pulled together worriedly. He nudges Andrés’ foot under the table, hoping for at least a smile in return. Andrés just turns to Tatiana and asks her how she wants to spend her day, pulling his feet far enough away that Martín can’t reach them.

Martín breathes through his nose, trying to ignore the hurt and takes a gulp of Raquel’s coffee. He doesn’t speak much during breakfast, hoping for a smile or a friendly gesture from Andrés but gets nothing. When Tatiana drags Andrés from the table, insisting on getting ready for on-shore shopping, Martín stays behind with Sergio and Raquel.

“What’s going on?” Raquel asks the minute they’re out of earshot.

Martín shakes his head. “I don’t know. He wasn’t there this morning. He’s always there.”

Raquel turns on Sergio. “You’re his brother, do you know what’s going on?”

“I, um,” Sergio shifts uncomfortably under her scrutiny. “I don’t know. I think maybe it’s because of Tatiana. He mentioned something about her being suspicious about the time he spends with you.”

“Well I’d have appreciated a warning if that’s all it is,” Martín says with a relieved sigh.

Raquel smiles, although she doesn’t look quite as relieved as Martín feels. “I’m sure he’ll find time to talk to you later.”

“Probably,” Martín agrees.

“Ah,” Sergio says and they both turn to him, making him flush at the attention. “Well, it’s just… He might not have time because, well, he's going to propose to her today.”

“He what?” Raquel demands as the bottom drops out of Martín’s stomach. “I thought the plan was to wait until we’re in Yucatán?”

Sergio frowns. “No, the plan I came up with always involved a proposal before the end of the cruise.”

“The plan you came up with?” Martín asks. “I didn’t know that it was your plan.”

“It is,” Sergio says, sounding more commanding than Martín has heard before.

“You didn’t tell me that,” Raquel says.

Sergio takes her hand. “Does it matter?”

“No, I suppose not,” she says with a sigh. “Are you okay, Martín? This was sooner than we expected.”

Martín nods, even though he isn’t really sure if he is. “Yeah, I mean… the sooner he proposes, the sooner they get married, the sooner they get divorced and we get our money, right?”

Raquel laughs and is clearly about to make a joke, when Sergio speaks.

“You’re in love with him,” he says and it’s not a question, more like a statement of fact.

The smile on Raquel’s face falters a little, but Martín doesn’t hesitate before nodding.

“Yeah,” he says, looking straight at Sergio. “Yeah I am.”

“And you’re okay with him being with Tatiana, being married to her for however long it takes to get the money?” Sergio’s gaze is emotionless, calculating. “Even if by the end of it, you guys aren’t… together any more?”

This time Martín does hesitate. Just for a moment, but he knows Sergio sees it. “Yes. I’m okay with it.”

Sergio stares at him for a moment longer, but eventually nods. “Alright then.”

“I uh, I’m going to go back to bed for a bit,” Martín says. “I’ll see you guys at dinner.”

Raquel smiles, still worried and reaches out to squeeze his hand.

* * *

Martín isn’t late to dinner this time, but Andrés and Tatiana are. By the time they arrive, Raquel and Martín have already finished eating.

They’re holding hands and Tatiana is giggling. Andrés can’t stop smiling at her.

“Hey, how was your day on-shore?” Raquel asks them.

Tatiana grins, looking between Andrés and the others. “Can we tell them?”

Andrés smiles indulgently. “I don’t see why not, mi amor.”

Tatiana giggles again and holds out her hand, displaying a huge, sparkling diamond ring.

“Oh my god,” Raquel explains and Tatiana nods, her smile dazzling.

“I know! Andrés proposed!”

Martín knew this was coming, he knew it, but somehow he still isn’t prepared. He swallows heavily, trying to pull himself together while Raquel fawns over Tatiana’s ring.

“Congratulations,” he says to Andrés, forcing a smile onto his face.

Andrés holds eye contact for a few seconds, before smiling at Tatiana again. “Thank you, Martín.”

Martín sighs and then gets up to embrace Tatiana. “Congratulations to you too, you must be so happy.”

“Thank you!” she says, squeezing him tightly. “You’ll have to come to the wedding, after all you’ve been such a big part of our relationship so far.”

If Martín was drinking something at the time, he would have choked. Behind Tatiana, Raquel looks like she’s having a similar struggle, torn between shock and laughter.

“I uh, I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he says and for a moment, he catches Andrés’ eye over Tatiana’s shoulder. Andrés smiles briefly, then turns away when Sergio touches his shoulder.

“Martín, we’ll have to go now if we want to make our show,” Raquel says and Martín nods.

“Congratulations again,” he says, pressing a kiss to Tatiana’s cheek.

When they’re halfway to the theatre, Raquel stops and pulls Martín into a tight hug. She holds him for long enough that he feels a little uncomfortable and when she finally lets go of him, he frowns.

“What was that for?” he asks her and she sighs.

“I just… I know you weren’t really prepared for this,” she says, hand coming up to cup his cheek. “And I know you love him and all I’ve wanted for you is someone that will let you love them and who loves you back. I just want you to be okay.”

Martín smiles at her. “I got way too lucky with you as a friend, didn’t I?”

“Probably.”

“I definitely did. But don’t worry about me Raquel, I’ll be okay.”

After the show, Martín manages to grab Andrés and pull him away from his blushing bride-to-be. He drags him into one of the backstage areas while Tatiana goes to the bathroom.

“Hi,” he breathes before pressing Andrés up against the wall and kissing him.

Andrés kisses back, but it’s not as enthusiastic as usual, his hands resting calmly on Martín’s waist, rather than passionately clutching at him the way Martín has become used to.

“Martín,” Andrés says, a flat smile on his face, when he breaks away. “What are you doing?”

Martín smiles too, a little confused. “What do you mean, what am I doing? I missed you, you didn’t come to see me this morning.”

Andrés sighs. “I couldn’t leave. Tatiana woke up early.”

“That’s okay,” Martín says, cupping Andrés’ face, thumb rubbing over his cheekbone. “I understand.”

Andrés pulls away from him. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Then when?” Martín asks.

“Not now. Not when my fiancée could walk in on us at any time.”

Martín crosses his arms. “Fiancée.”

“Yes,” Andrés says slowly. “Tatiana is my fiancée. We both agreed to this – or did you forget?”

“No,” Martín says quietly. “No, I didn’t forget.”

Andrés remains stony faced and Martín sighs. He reaches for Andrés’ hand, which the other man reluctantly allows him to take.

“Look, we clearly need to talk about things again. Will I see you tonight?”

“I don’t know,” Andrés says. “It’s not like I can just leave her on the night of our engagement to talk to you.”

Martín scowls. “I don’t know what makes it different from any other night you’ve snuck out to come and be with me.”

Andrés scrubs a hand across his face. “I’ll try, alright? I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try.”

“Alright,” Martín says, still angry. “Guess I’ll try to see you later. If you can’t make it, I’ll be at the bar seeing if there’s some other mostly straight man who’s willing to leave his fake fiancée to come and fuck me.”

“Martín!” Andrés hisses as Martín storms away from him, but Martín ignores him.

* * *

“What crawled up your ass?” Denver asks when Martín throws himself onto a stool in front of the bar.

“Shut up,” Martín groans half-heartedly, dropping his head onto the bar. “Just get me something to drink.”

He can hear Denver sighing and then there’s a glass being set down next to his head.

“Thanks,” he mumbles and receives a pat on the head for his effort.

Five drinks later and Denver is refusing to pour him another.

“Please,” he whines. “Denver, please. I don’t ask for much. Just alcohol and pity.”

Denver sighs and slides him another drink. “Fine. But this is the last one and then I’m cutting you off, it’s nearly three am.”

“You should cut him off now,” a voice says and Martín scowls when Andrés slides onto the barstool next to him.

“Ugh,” he groans. “What do you want?”

“You wanted to talk. Although now I’m thinking that you might be too drunk for that.”

Martín glares into his drink. “Yeah? And who’s fault is that?”

Andrés sighs. “Definitely too drunk, come on, I’m taking you back to your room.”

“Wait, when are we going to talk then?”

A hand strokes Martín’s hair out of his face. “We’ll talk tomorrow morning.”

“No,” Martín shakes his head. “You’ll be gone tomorrow morning.”

“I won’t. I’ll be there, promise,” Andrés insists.

Martín groans again, but gives into Andrés’ insistent tugging and stumbles away from the bar. Andrés wraps an arm around his waist, letting Martín lean into him as they make their way to the lifts.

“You didn’t tell me you were gonna get engaged today,” he mumbles into Andrés’ shoulder as the lift descends.

Andrés sighs. “I know, corazón. It was a last-minute change to the plan.”

Martín frowns. “Huh? Sergio said that…” he trails off, confused.

Andrés presses a kiss to the top of his head. “What did he say?”

For the life of him, Martín can’t remember. “Don’t know, ask me again tomorrow.”

“I will,” Andrés says with a laugh.

Martín starts to strip the minute they let themselves into his room. He flops backwards onto the bed in his underwear, trousers still around his ankles. He pats the space next to him, and wiggles his eyebrows at Andrés.

“Care to join me? I’m drunk, but… I’m sure we can find something to do.”

Andrés shrugs out of his jacket and crawls onto the bed, hovering above Martín, hands on either side of his head.

“As tempting as that sounds,” he purrs, face inches from Martín’s. “You’re really too drunk querido – and your moustache is askew.”

Martín paws at his face, having forgotten he was wearing the moustache and rips it off his top lip.

“Still not gonna happen,” Andrés says when Martín tries his luck again. “But we’ll see about tomorrow morning, depends on how hungover you are.”

Martín whines but stops when Andrés kisses him quiet. When Martín is breathless and desperately clawing at Andrés’ shirt, the other man breaks away.

“Enough, you should sleep now.”

“Fine,” Martín agrees. “As long as you really do stay.”

Andrés kisses him again and then pulls away to get undressed. “I will.”

Martín rolls and slides under the covers. “Where does your fiancée think you are?”

Andrés shrugs, folding his trousers and joining Martín in bed. “She’s asleep. If she asks tomorrow, I’ll just say I got up to go running.”

“Pff, you don’t run.”

“She doesn’t know that.”

Martín sniggers as he curls into Andrés’ arms, squirming when the other man pokes him in the side.

“Hush you,” Andrés orders. “Go to sleep.”

Martín sighs. “Fine. I love you,” he mumbles, ignoring how Andrés tenses.

* * *

He wakes up alone. “Of course,” he mumbles into his pillows, when he stretches and finds the bed empty.

“Of course what?” a voice asks and Martín rolls over to see Andrés sitting in the desk chair, wearing a fresh suit, a cup of coffee beside him.

“Oh,” Martín says. “I thought you left.”

Andrés shakes his head and wordlessly hands Martín the cup of coffee.

“Lifesaver,” Martín says. He takes several gulps of the coffee and smiles sheepishly at Andrés. “I’m sorry about last night. It shouldn’t have mattered that you guys got engaged earlier than I expected. I knew it was going to happen.”

Andrés nods, his face strangely impassive. “It’s fine.”

Martín frowns. “Is it? Because you seem… off.” Andrés doesn’t say anything and Martín puts the coffee aside, sitting up and shuffling along the bed so he’s opposite Andrés. “Look, I’m sorry, I am. And I’m sorry I was too drunk to fool around last night. But if you want, we could do that now? We don’t have to be at breakfast for another hour.”

“No,” Andrés says, shaking his head. “I’m not getting back in bed with you. I’m having breakfast with Tatiana.”

“Oh,” Martín says. “I uh, sorry. You should have said you were meeting her earlier.”

“No, I shouldn’t have,” Andrés says sharply.

Martín holds up his hands defensively. “Alright, you don’t have to tell me.”

Andrés sighs, deeply. “I just feel like you’ve been going in circles, with your feelings, your jealousy about us.”

“My feelings?” Martín demands but Andrés interrupts him.

“You’ve made this into something bigger than it is.”

Martín gapes, his chest feels tight, like Andrés’ words are physically causing him pain. “I’ve what? Andrés what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the fact that I’m going to marry Tatiana. And I can’t do that and be with you at the same time. You’re in love with me, and that wasn’t part of the plan.” Andrés’ face is still that horrible, impassive mask as he speaks and Martín wants nothing more than to shatter it.

He shakes his head, hands angrily curling into the sheets. “You’re lying. You said we were in a relationship, you said we were falling for each other.”

Andrés laughs and it’s cold and unfamiliar. “I’ve been married four times, Martín – you think I don’t know how to fake love?”

Martín feels sick, his hands are shaking as he looks at Andrés.

“Why? You said you had nothing to gain from tricking me and you know what, you were right. You had nothing to gain, because I’m pretty much worthless. So why did you do it?”

“Because,” Andrés says. “Because I know that what we have between us is extraordinary, unique, wonderful.” He pauses, swallowing hard. “But it’s not love Martín. We’re not soulmates.”

“What are you even saying?” Martín says, trying to shout, but his voice breaks pathetically.

“I’m saying, that I’m going to marry Tatiana because I love the plan, but also because I love her. Because I’d give anything to feel that with you,” Andrés says and Martín is on his feet before he can finish.

He crowds Andrés, who is still in the chair, climbing into his lap, cupping his face and kissing him. Andrés kisses back, Martín knows he does, but then he’s pushing Martín away, shaking his head.

“I’d give anything to feel that with you,” Andrés whispers. “But it’s impossible, Martín, it’s impossible. I’ve fallen in love with Tatiana and you… you love me too much.”

“Is that what this is about?” Martín asks, ashamed of the tears running down his face. He flinches away when Andrés tries to wipe them off, climbing out of his lap. “Because I love you? You’re a coward!”

“That’s your opinion,” Andrés says flatly. “But my brother is right, this thing between us has become too much of a distraction and we have to end it. So I’m going to go have breakfast with Tatiana and tomorrow, when we get to Yucatán, we’ll leave and that will be the end of it. You’ll think of me, but I won’t think of you.”

“You’ll leave?” Martín yells. “Go ahead and leave. Take her with you for all I care, but you make sure to give me my cut when your stupid fucking plan finishes and this sham of a marriage falls apart.”

Andrés gets to his feet, straightening his suit jacket. “Of course you'll get your portion of the money, I’m sure Raquel will know how to contact you.”

Martín laughs weakly. “Of course.”

Andrés walks right past him, only stopping in the doorway when Martín calls after him.

“I love you and you’re the worst thing that ever happened to me,” he spits at Andrés’ back. “You don’t love her, you know you don’t!”

“I do love her, but you’re hooked on something that will never exist!” Andrés says, not even turning to look at him. “I have to leave you. It’s for love, for brotherhood. For the commitment I have to the plan and to Tatiana.” Martín lets out a sob and Andrés just keeps talking. “I’m sure that one way or another, time will bring us back together.”

He walks out of the room, the door closing behind him with a slam and Martín doesn’t know what to do. He sinks back onto his bed, ugly sobs tearing their way out of his throat.

He’s stuck, replaying the last few days over and over again in his mind, trying to work out how it all went wrong. Apart from Andrés’ strange standoffishness at breakfast and after dinner yesterday, he comes up empty. Because Andrés showed up at the bar last night, because Andrés kissed him like it meant something, because he held Martín like he cared, because he looked after him after Gandia’s attack, because together they stood in front of Sergio and told him they could separate their feelings from the plan.

Martín can’t figure it out, can’t understand what he’s done wrong, all he knows is that he messed it up, that Andrés lied, that every touch, every word, every kiss meant nothing to Andrés when it meant everything to Martín.

He knows it’s selfish, knows she’s probably busy, but he needs Raquel. He stumbles his way to the door, ignoring his state of undress and makes it the short journey down the hall to Raquel’s room. She opens the door almost immediately when he knocks, face falling in dismay when she sees him.

“Martín,” she gasps, wrapping her arms around him, pulling him into a hug and he sobs onto her shoulder. “Martín, what happened?”

“Andrés,” he cries as she strokes his back. “He… he ended things. Told me that my love for him was a distraction, bad for the plan, that he loves Tatiana.”

Raquel guides him into the room, sitting him on the bed and then perching next him, keeping him in her arms. “What? Martín that… it can’t be right.”

Martín laughs bitterly through his tears. “Yeah well, tell that to him.”

Raquel hugs him tighter, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry, Martín. I shouldn’t have encouraged it, I’m the one who told you to go for it with Andrés.”

“No,” Martín sniffs, trying to calm himself. “It’s not your fault. It’s mine, for thinking that any of it was real, for thinking someone could actually love me.”

“I love you,” Raquel says immediately, kissing his cheek.”

“I love you too,” Martín says, fresh tears streaming down his face. “But it’s not the same is it? I thought I had someone who loved me, all of me. But all it was, was wishful thinking. Wishful thinking and sex.”

“Martín,” Raquel starts and then she’s cut off by a knock on the door and Sergio entering, a suitcase in his hand.

“Raquel, they only had this size at the gift shop, I hope that’s…” he trails off when he sees Martín. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

Martín shakes his head, disentangling himself from Raquel and wiping at his face. “It’s fine.”

“Andrés talked to you?” Sergio asks like he already knows the answer.

Martín nods. “How did you know?”

Sergio puts down the suitcase, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot and Martín suddenly remembers what he was trying to ask Andrés last night.

“Wait, you said yesterday that it was always part of the plan for Andrés to propose to Tatiana before we reach Yucatán,” he says and Sergio nods.

“That’s correct.”

“But last night, Andrés said that it was a last-minute change of plans,” Martín says accusingly.

Sergio shrugs. “Does it matter, Martín?”

Martín scowls. “It matters if you’re the one who told Andrés to propose early and break my heart because of your fucking plan!”

“What?” Raquel asks. “Sergio, that’s not true, is it?”

Sergio looks between them and hesitates before shaking his head. “Of course not. My brother is his own person. I’d never have been able to force him to do anything he didn’t want.”

Martín deflates, shrugging off Raquel’s arm when she tries to comfort him.

“Raquel, we’re late for breakfast and then you should start packing,” Sergio says and Martín’s stomach twists.

“Packing?”

Raquel bites her lip, eyes remorseful as she looks at him. “I’m leaving tomorrow, remember? With Sergio?”

Martín nods numbly. “Of course, how could I forget.” He gets to his feet, ignoring Raquel trying to grab his hand. “I’ll leave you to it then.”

“Martín,” she calls as he walks past Sergio. “You could come with us.”

Martín laughs, the sound ringing hollowly from his aching chest as he turns to face her again. “Sure it’ll be fun. You, me, Sergio, and the newly-weds. It’ll be great.”

“Martín,” she tries again, but he shakes his head.

“Don’t, please just… Just go and move on with your life, Raquel, you deserve happiness.”

“So do you,” she says and her eyes are sincere.

“I think life has proven enough times, that I don’t. I’ll see you, Raquel. If you can manage it, come say goodbye before you go.”

He leaves and he can hear her calling after him, but just like everyone else who’s ever broken his heart, she doesn’t follow.

He makes it to his room just in time for any composure he thought he’d gathered to crumble messily. He grabs the bottle of whiskey he keeps for emergencies from under his desk, taking a long swig that burns in his throat and makes his head swim. Still clutching the bottle, he stumbles to the shower, half-blinded by tears and his chest so tight it’s almost impossible to breathe. He turns the water on and the temperature as low as it will go and sits on the floor, still in his underwear. He stays there, letting the sting of the cold water numb his body. His lungs are still refusing to work properly, and he wonders just what it is he’s done to be so unloveable, to always end up the person crouching in the shower, crying so hard he’s not sure how to stop. He wonders if he froze to death, or drowned, or flung himself overboard, whether anyone would actually care or whether they’d show the perfunctory sadness for a couple days and then move on. He drinks more whiskey until he stops thinking.

* * *

“Jesus, the water’s freezing.”

“I know, just try and get him out of there.”

There are voices in his shower that definitely don’t belong to him. The voices have hands too, because the water shuts off and then there are fingers that feel like they’re on fire wrapping around his biceps and tugging him to his feet.

“Fuck, he’s cold.”

“M’not cold,” he insists to the voices and there’s some cursing and more disturbingly hot hands on his shoulders, his back, and he’s being bundled into a towel.

“He needs to get out of that underwear, it’s soaking.”

“Well, I’m not doing it.”

“Denver, for fuck’s sake. Get a grip.”

“Why can’t Helsi do it? He’s seen literally all of Palermo before.”

“Now’s really not the time to be bringing that up.”

“Denver, just pull off his fucking underwear, or I swear to god I will punch you.”

Martín tries to lift his hands to cover his ears and stop the arguing, but his arms are heavy and he’s so very tired.

“I know you’re tired, you can sleep in a minute, we just need to get you dry.”

He doesn’t know which of the voices does it, but soon there’s another towel being rubbed across his skin, setting it on fire with every touch.

“Shh, it’s okay, we’re done now. You can go to bed now,” one of the voices soothes when he tries to pull away.

The voices are true to their word because he soon finds himself in his bed, being covered by blankets. The bed dips beside him and someone starts stroking his hair and Martín cries because he knows it isn’t Andrés. Never will be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh... sorry?


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a long time since we started, but... here we are!
> 
> TWs: canon typical (minor) violence, canon-typical alcohol abuse, reference to disordered eating, panic attacks

When Martín wakes, it’s with a pounding headache and a mouth drier than cotton. There’s blinding sunlight streaming into his cabin and deathly cold feet pressed against his calf.

“Jesus,” he groans into his pillows. “Do you think you could sleep with socks on – or maybe not put your feet on my bare fucking leg?”

He receives a hard dig to his ribs in answer.

“Ow, what the fuck? Are you ever going to stop sleeping here?”

Manila raises her head off the pillow next to his, glaring at him through impressively messy bedhead. “Are you ever going to stop getting so drunk that someone needs to make sure you don’t choke on your own vomit during the night?”

He scowls and she raises her eyebrows pointedly in answer.

“Exactly,” she says, pulling the duvet higher up over her shoulders. “Besides, your cabin is nicer than mine.”

Martín snorts. “That’s because I’m the main entertainer on this floating trash heap and you’re a bartender-slash-waitress.”

“Shut up,” Manila says, poking him again and laughing when he whines. “Now get up. You need to shower and eat.”

Martín demonstratively shoves his face back into his pillows. “I’m not hungry.”

Manila sighs. “You’re never hungry, that doesn’t mean you don’t need to eat.”

Her fingers find their way into his hair, stroking gently, easing his headache just a little.

“I’ll have lunch later,” he offers.

“It’s already after two.”

“Then I’ll have dinner.”

“We both know you won’t.”

“Just give it a rest, Manila. Aren’t you tired of this, of me, after six months?”

There’s a weight on his back and he turns his head just enough to see that Manila has practically crawled on top of him, arms winding around his chest, hands squished between him and the mattress.

“No, we’re friends and I don’t give up on my friends,” she insists, charitably ignoring the tears escaping from his closed eyes. “I’m not giving up on you, don’t you dare give up on yourself.”

He sniffs, nodding against his rapidly dampening pillow. “I just… I miss them.”

Manila sighs, pressing her forehead to the back of his neck. “I know.”

They’re silent for a moment as Martín does his best to stop crying. He lets himself be soothed by Manila basically acting like a human gravity blanket, the warmth and weight of her strangely comforting.

“It was yesterday, wasn’t it?” she asks eventually, although she already knows the answer.

“Yeah,” he says redundantly.

Another silence stretches between them before Manila speaks again.

“Do you regret not going?”

Martín thinks of the wedding invitation he’d received – elegant calligraphy on simple, but expensive paper – how it’s probably disintegrated and disappeared into the depths of the Atlantic by now. Thinks of his name spelled out at the top, with a plus one option on the RSVP card. How foolishly optimistic must Raquel have been to expect he’d come at all, let alone with a date. How heartbroken he’d been when he decided that he wasn’t going to – couldn’t be there to watch his best friend get married.

“I don’t know,” he says. “I’m happy for her, I am, but…”

“But, Andrés,” Manila finishes for him and it’s a sign of him having moved on just a little bit, that he no longer needs to be drunk to hear Andrés’ name without crying.

“Yeah, him.”

“He was an asshole,” Manila says decisively, as though she hasn’t said those exact words to him many times since Andrés left, taking his brother and Martín’s best friend with him.

“He was,” Martín agrees.

“He was hot though, in a weasely sort of way.”

Martín chokes on a laugh. “Yeah, he was.”

“Still a dick though.”

“Yep.”

“Are you going to eat now?”

“Manila…”

“Two pieces of toast.”

“One.”

“That’s all I wanted you to eat, you dumbass. Now go shower.”

* * *

“Should you really be drinking before your shift?” Denver asks, frowning dubiously at Martín when he orders a double whiskey, a week after Raquel’s wedding.

“No,” Manila says as she passes with a tray of gin and tonics. “But he’s singing tonight, so he can have one.”

“Thanks mom,” Martín mutters at her retreating form and Denver snorts.

“She still making it her mission to keep you functioning?” he asks and Martín sighs.

“Apparently.”

Helsinki nods approvingly. “Someone should, you need to look after yourself, Martín.”

Martín accepts his drink from Denver with a half-smile. “Yeah? Why is that?”

“You can’t just shut down and decide your life is over, because of what happened,” Helsinki insists. “You should try and move on and –“

“And what? Someone else is out there for me?” Martín asks nastily. “Andrés didn’t want, me neither did you – why should anyone else?”

Helsinki sets his jaw, but Martín can see the hurt in his eyes. “That’s not fair.”

“Fuck,” Martín says, rubbing his hand across his face and nearly displacing his moustache. “I’m sorry. You’re right, that wasn’t fair.”

“It’s okay,” Helsinki says, because he always was too kind, too forgiving.

Martín shakes his head. “It’s not. I’m sorry.”

Helsinki nudges Martín’s glass of whiskey towards him. “I know you are. Now finish your drink, you’re on stage in ten minutes.”

Martín does as he’s told, downing his drink and getting to his feet while the liquor spreads fire through his chest. “I really wish Arturo would just find another singer, I’m not fucking Elton John.”

“It’s true, you don’t wear crazy glasses,” Helsinki teases and Martín rolls his eyes.

“Sure, because that’s the only difference between us,” he says and Helsinki laughs. “I’ll see you guys later.”

He makes his way through the crowded corridors, keeping his eyes on the floor so as to avoid any passengers stopping and talking to him. As he passes the casino, he catches a glimpse of a silver brocade jacket that reminds him of one Andrés had worn and he bites the inside of his cheek to force himself not to look again. He’s spent far too much time looking at poor imitations of Andrés in the places he used to be.

He reaches the backstage area and is immediately assaulted by Arturo.

“Why aren’t you on stage yet?” he immediately demands and Martín scowls.

“Because the show doesn’t start for another two minutes!” he snaps and Arturo’s round face reddens.

He points one short finger at Martín, waving it in his face. “You’re on thin ice, Berrote! Get out there and do your damn job – and try and play something that isn’t so damn depressing.”

“Or what?” Martín sneers. “You know you can’t fire me.”

Arturo laughs unkindly. “That’s where you’re wrong. There’s a new captain, remember? Or were you too busy pickling your liver to notice? And this one doesn’t care about you or anything you think you have on me. He’s also given me full firing and hiring power. Now go and entertain the passengers before I decide you’re not worth your salary.”

Martín is fuming, but he has no choice but to go out onto the stage, a fake smile fixed on his face, just under his fake moustache. He waves at the audience, doing a little bow when they cheer and for a moment, his smile doesn’t seem quite so fake.

He sits down at the piano and, just to spite Arturo, starts with something slow and sad. He takes a breath, ignoring the audience’s polite applause as he plays the intro and then begins to sing.

_Alone in this house again tonight_

_I got the TV on, the sound turned down and a bottle of wine_

_There's pictures of you and I on the walls around me_

_The way that it was and could have been surrounds me_

_I'll never get over you walking away_

He tries to focus on the music as he continues into the chorus, the notes drifting into the evening air and he’s sure if he looks into the audience, he’ll see a couple of the recent divorcées dabbing at their eyes. He and Raquel used to try and see who could make more of them cry, and the thought of her makes something in his chest tighten.

He finishes the song to more applause and launches into the next one, picking something especially depressing this time.

_Last night I dreamt_

_That somebody loved me_

_No hope, no harm_

_Just another false alarm_

_Last night I felt_

_Real arms around me_

Just as he starts the next line, he looks out into the crowd and the words die in his mouth, choking him as his fingers slip from the piano keys. Sitting there, right in the middle of the theatre, casually sipping a martini, is Andrés.

And it is him, Martín knows it. He’s more tanned than the last time he saw him, in a new suit, with a silk tie in a complicated knot at his throat.

There’s murmurs from the audience, a general noise of confusion and Martín realises that he has completely stopped playing, too dumbstruck by Andrés’ appearance. He gets to his feet suddenly, the piano stool scraping loudly across the stage. The noise from the crowd grows as he stumbles towards the curtain, eyes still fixed on Andrés who is standing now, a concerned look on his face. Martín turns away from him and runs.

Except, that Arturo is still backstage, incandescent with rage as he yells.

“What the hell are you doing?” he demands. “Get back out there right now!”

Martín shakes his head, hands trembling as he runs them through his hair. “I can’t, I can’t Arturo.”

Arturo sets his jaw. “Get out there right now or you’re fired and you can get off when we dock in Morocco tomorrow.”

“Please,” Martín says. “I can’t go back out there.”

“You will or this is your last night on the ship.”

Martín can’t even reply. It’s like iron bands are squeezing his chest, restricting every breath. He just shakes his head again, desperate to escape, to run somewhere – anywhere that isn’t near Andrés.

“Last chance, Berrote,” Arturo says, but Martín just stands his ground, with unsteady hands and failing lungs and shakes his head. “Then you’re done. Get out of my sight, I want you off the ship as soon as we dock tomorrow.”

Arturo stalks onto the stage, making shallow apologies about unreliable performers and Martín staggers his way towards the changing rooms where the dancers are crowded in the door, eyes wide. Nairobi rushes forward and grabs him, supporting him until he can collapse into a chair.

“Manila,” he says to her, his breathing shallow enough that the word comes out garbled and half formed. “Get Manila.”

Nairobi nods, gestures behind her, and then Tokyo is darting out of the room. Martín buries his face in his hands and rapidly loses the battle to keep his tears in check. They roll down his face and neck as he swallows his ugly sobs until he chokes on them. Nairobi, out of a misplaced sense of friendship or pity, stays by his side. Her hand hovers just short of resting on his knee, and she keeps repeating a stream of commands that he breathe, damn it, breathe.

It feels like hours, but then Manila is there, face flushed like she’s been running. She almost shoves Nairobi out of the way in her haste to get to Martín, flinging her arms around him.

“What happened?” she asks as he presses his damp face against her neck.

“He ran off stage and wouldn’t go back on, so Arturo fired him,” Nairobi says from where she’s still crouched next to him.

“What? Why wouldn’t you go out?” Manila asks. “What the hell happened?”

Martín struggles to catch his breath and shakes his head. Manila pulls away, keeping her hands on his shoulders.

“Breathe, Martín,” she orders. “Come on, you know how this goes. Breathe in, one, two, three, four. Now hold it, one, two, three, four. Exhale, one, two, three, four. And again, come on, you need to calm down or you’ll make yourself sick.”

Martín does his best to follow what she’s saying, desperately trying to get his breathing back under control. Manila rubs her hands up and down his arms, still counting. By the time he manages to stop hyperventilating, they’re the only ones left in the dressing room and he can hear the dancer’s music and Tokyo’s singing from the stage.

“Okay?” Manila asks and he nods. “Good, now tell me what happened.”

“He’s here,” Martín rasps. “Andrés. He’s on the ship.”

Manila gapes. “What? Are you sure?”

Martín nods frantically. “I’m sure. It was him, Manila. He was sat right there and… and I froze. I couldn’t – I had to get away.”

“Of course, you did,” Manila soothes. “What Nairobi said… is it true? Arturo fired you?”

“Yes, it’s true,” Martín says through clenched teeth. “I have to be off the ship tomorrow, when we dock in Casablanca. I need to – fuck, I need to get my stuff.”

Manila hushes him when his hands start shaking again. “Okay, it’s alright. I’ll help you, let’s get you back to your room, before the dancers come back.”

“Aren’t you working?” Martín asks as she takes one of his slightly sweaty hands and starts to drag him out of the dressing room.

“Denver is covering, don’t worry about me right now.”

By some act of mercy, they don’t encounter Arturo again, and they stick to the staff corridors to get to his cabin. The whole way there, Manila never lets go of his hand and Martín thinks it might be the only thing keeping him sane. He expects to see Andrés around every corner, almost like after he first left, except this time he knows Andrés is actually here – even though he has no idea why.

Manila has long been in charge of his keys, in the same way Raquel once was, and she unlocks the door to his cabin, letting Martín stumble in ahead of her. He immediately collapses onto his bed, not even bothering to take his shoes off. Manila does take a moment to take off her uniform jacket and shoes before she crawls onto the bed after him. She sits up at the top of the bed and coaxes him into resting his head on her thighs.

She lets him have a moment, before she speaks. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know,” he says honestly.

She nods. “That’s valid. But… are you going to speak to him – do you want to?”

Martín sighs. “I don’t know what I want, I’m more worried about what he wants. Why is he here of all places? Why now?”

Manila strokes a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, but –“

Before she can finish her sentence, she’s cut off by a knock on the door. Martín sits up suddenly, only for Manila to jump off the bed before he can.

“Stay there,” she orders.

She walks around the corner and Martín can hear the click of the lock as she opens the door.

“My name is Andrés de Fonollosa, I’m looking for Martín – is he there?” Andrés asks and Martín hates how the sound of his voice is enough to make his chest ache and his hands shake with want and anger.

He hears Manila scoff.

“Oh, I know who you are,” she says and then there’s the distinctive sound of flesh on flesh followed by Andrés swearing.

Martín stumbles to his feet and rounds the corner to see Andrés bent double, clutching at his face with blood pouring between his fingers, and a smug looking Manila standing over him shaking out her hand.

“What the fuck,” Martín yells and Manila turns to look at him.

“You can’t tell me he doesn’t deserve it,” she says with a shrug.

Andrés groans from behind his bloody hands as he straightens up. “Martín,” he says, voice thick. “Can I talk to you?”

Manila looks between the two of them, raising a questioning eyebrow at Martín.

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I don’t want to hear anything from you. Now go away, you’re bleeding on my carpet and I have some packing to do.”

Andrés lowers his hands enough that Martín can see the bruising already beginning to spread under his eyes. “Packing? Where are you going?”

“None of your business,” Manila says sharply. “Now go or I’ll slam the door on your face too.”

She actually does close the door before he can answer and Andrés steps back just in time to avoid it hitting him in the face. Manila demonstratively locks it, then groans.

“Fuck that hurt – you couldn’t have dated someone with a softer face?” she asks and it actually startles a laugh out of him.

“Strangely that wasn’t my concern when I first slept with him,” Martín says. “How’s your hand? Anything broken?”

Manila shakes her head. “Nah, I’ll just run it under the cold tap and it’ll be fine.”

She disappears into the bathroom and Martín crawls under the bed to grab his suitcase. He opens it on the bed, staring at the empty halves and tries not to think about how hard it’s going to be to fit eight years of his life into it. Unlike Raquel when she left, he has no one willing to buy him extra luggage, no one to hold his hand as he steps off the ship for the last time, no one to make a home with.

He startles when Manila puts a hand on his shoulder.

“How’s the hand?” he asks and she shrugs.

“I told you, it’ll be fine. He’s not the first asshole I’ve punched.”

Martín laughs, but it quickly turns into a sigh as he contemplates his empty suitcase again. “You know, I’ve spent years wanting to leave this fucking ship, but now that it’s happening… I just always thought I’d be leaving for something better.”

Manila wraps her arms around him and presses a kiss to his cheek that he raises a token protest to. “You’ll be fine, you’re too resourceful not to land on your feet.”

“I suppose so,” Martín says. “Maybe I’ll finally put my engineering degree to good use.”

“You should. Weird that you went for music instead of science, right?” Manila asks with a smile.

“Music and maths have a lot in common,” Martín says disapprovingly.

Manila laughs. “Sure they do. Anyway, we should get you packed.”

Martín surveys his room and groans. “This is going to take all night.”

* * *

They don’t quite need all night, but when the ship docks in Casablanca the next morning, Martín is dead on his feet, only having managed to sleep a couple of hours. Manila didn’t even try to go back to her room and instead spent the night plastered to Martín’s back, interminably cold feet pressed against his leg.

She’s there to see him off, along with Helsinki, Denver, and Stockholm – and Arturo who stands, smiling smugly as Martín says his goodbyes. He kisses Stockholm on the cheek, does the same to Manila – who gets a hug too, same as Denver. Helsinki wraps him up in a bear hug that nearly cracks his ribs and puts a hand on his cheek when he lets him down.

“Look after yourself,” he says sincerely, his huge hand cupping Martín’s face. “You deserve more than you’ve ever let yourself have, Martín.”

“Thank you, big guy, I’ll let you know where I end up,” Martín says, trying his best not cry.

Helsinki kisses his forehead and then steps away to let Manila hug him again.

“Don’t you dare drink yourself to death, I’ll bring you back to life and beat your ass,” she says, only slightly tearfully.

Martín sniffs and laughs. “I can’t promise anything.”

“That’s enough,” Arturo says. “You need to get off the ship or I’ll have security escort you off.”

“Alright, don’t get your fucking panties in a twist,” Martín says.

Behind him, he hears Denver muttering something distinctly aggressive and extremely insulting under his breath. Martín grabs his suitcase and duffel bag and with a final grimace at his friends, walks down the gangplank and off the ship.

The docks are already bustling and full of both locals and tourists, so it takes him a while to get cab. Above him, the sky is grey, threatening rain that’s only common at this time of year. The heavens open just as the taxi pulls up to the hotel Stockholm had recommended. Martín sighs as he pays the driver and tips him extra when the guy gets out and helps him drag his luggage to the hotel foyer.

The receptionist gives him a pitying look when he asks for a room for a week with the possibility of an extension and he hands over his credit card with a wince when she tells him how much it’ll cost.

When he finally gets his key and has taken the lift up to his room, all he wants is to sleep for the next week and not have to worry about what comes next. He does end up sleeping, but only until the early evening. When he wakes up, his stomach is growling and the reality of his situation is once again dawning on him. He decides that food is the less pressing of the two issues, so he changes into a slightly less wrinkled shirt and goes to find a bar.

By some sick twist of fate – or more likely divine punishment – the only places close to his hotel that are serving alcohol are tourist traps. In fact the closest bar is right next to the restaurant at which he’d once eaten with Andrés. He’d really prefer to go to the opposite side of town, but it’s still pouring with rain so he’s already drenched and taxis are expensive now that he’s unemployed. He ignores the twist in his stomach as he walks past the restaurant and into the neighbouring bar.

Mercifully, the bar is half empty when he enters and he immediately sinks into a booth, flagging down a waiter, who takes one look at him and tucks the menu back under his arm. He orders the strongest – and cheapest – whiskey they have and the waiter brings him a double without a word. Martín downs it immediately, suppressing a wince.

“Another?” the waiter, who might just be his new best friend, asks him.

Martín nods and he disappears off to the bar. He’s just returned and told Martín to drink it slowly this time, when someone slides into the seat on the other side of the table.

“Martín, don’t go,” Andrés says immediately.

He looks more dishevelled than Martín has ever seen, hair plastered to his head from the rain, water dripping down his face which is bruised and swollen from Manila’s punch yesterday. Despite that, Martín won’t – can’t stick about to listen to more of his lies. He can’t, he knows he won’t survive Andrés handling his heart like a piece of trash again.

“No,” he says, getting to his feet and dropping enough notes to cover his drinks onto the table.

He downs his drink and walks away, leaving the bar before Andrés can say anything else. He walks right out into the rain and then realises he left his coat behind. He’s debating whether or not to go back and get it when Andrés comes storming out of the bar with Martín’s coat in his hand. There’s a frantic expression on his face that fades a little when he sees Martín.

He steps towards him, and Martín isn’t sure if it’s the rain drenching him or the bruises under Andrés’ eyes, but he looks tired.

“You forgot this,” he says, holding out the coat.

Martín steps towards him and takes his coat back, doing his best to avoid touching Andrés.

“Thanks.” He makes to leave and then Andrés’ hand is wrapping around his bicep.

“Martín!” If it were anyone else, Martín would say Andrés sounds desperate.

He stops and turns back, jaw clenched, and he tries to hold onto his anger the way a knight holds onto a shield. It’s the only protection he has left and it almost crumbles in the face of the despair in Andrés’ eyes.

“What do you want from me, Andrés?” he asks, his voice cracking on the other man’s name. “What more could you possibly need, because I have nothing left to give.”

“I’m sorry,” Andrés chokes. “I need you to know that, I’m sorry, Martín. I know you probably don’t believe me, maybe you don’t care, but I had to tell you anyway.”

Martín swallows hard and nods. “Great. Well, apology not accepted. You better go before the ship leaves without you.”

“I’m not getting back on the ship,” Andrés says.

“Well then go get on a flight and go back to your wife!” Martín spits.

Andrés shakes his head. “I don’t have a wife.” He pauses, his lips twitching into a bitter smile. “Well, I have five ex-wives, but I don’t have a wife anymore.”

“So you divorced Tatiana and took her money? Good for you. I don’t care. Now, fuck off.”

Martín wrenches his arm from Andrés’ grasp and walks away, back towards his hotel. Except then Andrés is running after him, running ahead so he can stand in front of Martín.

“No,” he says insistently. “I don’t have her money. After the wedding, she came clean and told me she knew all along that it was a scam.”

That shocks Martín enough to stop him in his tracks. “Then why did she go along with it?”

Andrés looks down at the wet ground. “She said she was lonely, she said she hoped that maybe one day it would have developed into love anyway.”

“Well, lucky her, she was right,” Martín says bitterly, blinking tears that he hopes can be mistaken for rain out of his eyes.

“She wasn’t.” The words are spoken so quietly that Martín barely hears them over the patter of the rain.

He shakes his head. “But before you left, you said –”

“I lied,” Andrés interrupts. “I lied, I was… I was scared.”

“Of what?” Martín asks incredulously.

“Of you! Of us!” Andrés retorts and finally, there’s fire in his eyes and passion in his voice. “I’ve been married five times, Martín, been with dozens of women – and then you…”

“Me?”

Andrés nods. “Then there’s you and everyone who’s come before is insignificant, nothing in comparison. I was terrified, petrified, fucking shaken to my soul because you had the power to destroy me and you didn’t even know it!”

Martín gapes at him, trying to make sense of a world that suddenly seems to have tilted on its axis. A world in which Andrés is standing in front of him in the pouring rain in one of the driest cities in the Northern Hemisphere, proclaiming feelings that he can’t possibly feel for Martín – not after what he’s done.

“I understand,” he says slowly and Andrés’ eyes widen, a flash of hope crossing his face. “Because I felt the same way about you. Which is why I don’t understand how you could have done what you did. You fucking ruined me, Andrés. You left me a wreck and you knew how I felt about you, you can’t deny it. You destroyed me in one fucking conversation and you abandoned me and walked away and you took my best friend with you!”

“Martín,” Andrés tries to speak, but Martín won’t let him.

“Shut up,” he interrupts. “For once, just shut up. You can’t do this, Andrés. I’m not some toy you can wind up and play with for your own amusement and then throw away when something better comes along!”

Andrés shakes his head, denials falling from his lips. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you Martín, nothing better came along, it never will. I was a coward, I’ll admit. I was cruel, and I was selfish, and I was monstrously greedy. I put my own needs and feelings above yours and you’re within your rights to never forgive me for it. But I need you to know that I love you, beyond reason and beyond all of my fears. I’m sorry for not telling you before, I’m sorry for the things I said when I left you. If I could do it all over again, I would leave with you and forget about the money, the plan, all of it.”

“So why didn’t you?” Martín asks and he finally, finally gives into the tears that have been choking him. “Why didn’t you stay, why didn’t you tell me then, why didn’t you come back earlier?”

“I couldn’t,” Andrés insists. “Sergio... this was his plan, I needed to finish it for him. But I’m here now.”

“After you already got everything you ever wanted!” Martín accuses.

Andrés reaches out, grasping both of Martín’s hands in his own and as much as Martín wants to pull away, he can’t bring himself to break the contact. “No, I have nothing. I have no money, no wife, but more importantly, I don’t have you.”

“But, Tatiana –”

“When she admitted she knew it was a scam, she gave me two options… to stay for five years and have access to as much of her wealth as I wanted and I would get half of it once we divorced – or to leave immediately, but with nothing,”

Martín takes a step back, hands sliding away from Andrés’. “What are you saying?”

Andrés makes a noise of frustration as he grasps his own hair. “I’m saying that the prospect of staying with her, wasn’t worth all the money in the world. I’m saying that every morning I’d wake up and you weren’t next to me. And every time I got dressed, you weren’t there teasing me about my outfits! And every time I showered, it was alone without you pressed close to me. I’m saying that I couldn’t stand another minute, another second without you and I got on the first plane that would take me to one of the stops on the cruise and I boarded that cursed boat to beg you for a second chance – or to at least be near you, one last time before you told me to leave forever.”

Martín blinks, speechless. Andrés moves closer and then he’s on his knees, in the middle of the street, dirty water soaking his trousers as he looks up at Martín.

“I can’t offer you much, I’ve lost out on rather a large amount of money – but I vow to you, I’ll never intentionally hurt you again, I’ll never leave you again, I’ll never let you feel unloved again, I’ll never stop trying to get you to forgive me or to make you love me again. It’s all I can promise right now and if it’s not enough, I understand,” he says and Martín is sure his jaw has dropped as he watches the man who has hurt him more than any rational person would forgive, literally beg him for absolution.

“I…” he starts, still speechless.

He stares down at Andrés, who makes no indication that he wants to move, even though he must be as cold as Martín, and he’s too old to be kneeling on wet asphalt.

“Get up,” he eventually says. “It’s painful, watching you like that, you’ll wreck your knees.”

Andrés does as he’s told, getting to his feet with a wince that tells Martín he was right about his joints.

“You’re an asshole,” Martín says. “You’re arrogant and selfish and I’ve never hated anyone as much as I hate you.”

Andrés doesn’t say anything, he takes the words Martín hurls at him, even as his jaw clenches, his desperation for forgiveness not quite enough to completely suppress his prideful streak.

“And I don’t know how long it will take to forgive you, or whether I ever can completely,” Martín continues and Andrés’ shoulders slump. “But despite that, I’ve never loved anyone the way I love you, Andrés de Fonollosa. God knows why, but I still do. And I’ve spent six months hating you and loving you and through all that, most of all, I’ve fucking missed you.”

Andrés’ head snaps up so fast, Martín thinks he hears something crack.

“What… what does that mean?” he asks Martín, his voice barely more than a whisper.

Martín sighs. “It means you have ten seconds to get over here and kiss me, before I go back to my hotel room and never want to see you again.”

Andrés’ hands are on him before he can finish the sentence, one hand on his waist, the other curling desperately into his sopping hair. His mouth finds Martín’s easily and the kiss feels like all the ones they’ve shared before, except it’s so much more. Andrés kisses him like he’s drowning and Martín is oxygen, still clutching him almost too close, like he’s trying to tangle them together irrevocably, permanently.

Martín brings up a hand to cup Andrés’ face and he flinches away, swearing.

“Fuck, Manila really knows how to throw a punch,” Andrés gripes, still wincing from the pain.

Martín isn’t quite as sympathetic as he might usually have been, but he takes Andrés hand and starts to guide him towards his hotel. “Come on, I have ice in my room.”

Andrés hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“No,” Martín says honestly. “I need time to think about this. I still don’t trust you and I have to admit I sort of want to punch you myself. But… we have to start somewhere.”

“Alright,” Andrés says a smile creeping onto his face.

“But if you hurt me again, I’ll get Manila to castrate you!” Martín threatens and the smile disappears.

* * *

“I never asked,” Martín says, as he listens to Andrés’ heartbeat through the fabric of his ridiculous silk pyjamas. “How did you find me? The other day, when I was in the bar – no one knew where I was going.”

Andrés tenses, the hand that was idly stroking across Martín’s ribs, freezing. “I uh… I had your phone tracked.”

Martín sits up and glares at him. “You did what?”

“I had to, I needed to find you! So I called the phone company and pretended to be you, said I’d lost my phone and needed them to trace it for me – they were very helpful,” Andrés explains, hands raised defensively.

Martín sighs, shaking his head. “Jesus fucking Christ. I think we need to establish some boundaries, if we’re going to do this.”

“Of course,” Andrés says seriously. “But... does that mean that you want to try again? Properly?”

“I do,” Martín says, surprising himself with how certain he sounds. “But remember –”

Andrés waves a hand. “Castration, yes, I know.”

Martín smirks and leans in to kiss him, still careful of Andrés bruises which have only now begun to fade. Things are just starting to get more interesting than Martín has allowed so far, when there’s a knock on the door.

“I thought you put up the do-not-disturb sign?” he asks Andrés.

“I did,” he replies, just as there’s another knock.

Martín sighs and goes to open it. He has just enough time to register red hair and then Raquel is flinging herself into his arms.

“Martín,” she cries. “I’ve been so worried about you. Denver was keeping me updated, since you wouldn’t return my calls – and then he told me that Arturo fired you and you’d left and I didn’t know where you were!”

Her tone is accusatory and flecked with hurt, but Martín can’t bring himself to answer, too busy hugging her.

“I’m sorry,” he eventually manages. “I just… you left me and I couldn’t –”

“I know,” Raquel says and he hugs her again, because she really does know.

There’s the sound of a throat being cleared and Martín looks up to see Sergio hovering in the doorway.

“Hermanito?” Andrés asks, appearing behind Martín. “What are you doing here? How did you even know where we were?”

Sergio shrugs. “I tracked Martín’s phone.”

Martín scowls. “You have got to stop doing that!”

“Stop running off then,” Raquel orders and then focusses on Andrés. “I see someone beat me to the punch – literally.”

“Manila,” Martín explains and Raquel smiles.

“I knew I liked her for a reason.”

Then she steps around Martín and slaps Andrés so hard his head turns.

“What the fuck?” Andrés howls and Raquel shrugs.

“You hurt my best friend, I don’t care if you’ve made up again.”

Andrés winces as he raises his hand to his face. “We lived together for six months, why did you wait until now?”

“Because I wanted Martín to see it,” Raquel says casually, pushing past him into the room and dragging Sergio with her.

Martín closes the door behind them and when they each settle in an armchair, he perches on the end of the bed, where Andrés joins him, immediately settling a hand on Martín’s knee.

“Not that I’m not happy to see you,” Martín says. “Because I really am, Raquel – but what are you doing here?”

Raquel sighs and pulls a letter out of her bag. “Tatiana came to see Sergio and I, and she brought this.” Andrés reaches for the envelope, but Raquel pulls it to her chest. “It’s not for you, it’s for Martín.”

Martín frowns, exchanging a confused glance with Andrés. “For me?”

“We don’t know why, either,” Sergio says. “She just said that it would be good, if we could find a way to get it to you.”

Raquel hands him the envelope and he takes it gingerly, unsure of just what Andrés’ newest ex-wife could want from him.

“Open it, cariño,” Andrés encourages him, squeezing his knee gently.

Martín does so, hoping no one can see how his hands are shaking. He slides a finger under the flap and opens the envelope, which is indeed addressed to him in an unfamiliar hand. There are two pieces of paper in there and he pulls out the thicker one first.

“What does it say?” Raquel asks impatiently.

Martín unfolds the note and reads the slanting writing, his jaw dropping the further along he gets.

“Oh my god,” he breathes and Raquel scowls.

“Martín, for the love of god, what does it say?”

He swallows, trying to calm his racing heart. “It says that she’s sorry for her part in hurting me, that she never should have gone along with Andrés’ attempts to scam her. She says she wants to make it up to me and that she’s enclosed a cheque and that… That she hopes I can find happiness with or without Andrés.”

Andrés makes an offended sort of noise, but readily accepts the letter when Martín hands it to him. Martín pulls the other piece of paper out of the envelope and sees that it’s indeed a cheque for –

“Twenty-million euros,” he chokes as he reads the sum, written in Tatiana’s looping hand-writing.

Across the room, Raquel’s eyes have widened an impossible amount. “What did you just say?”

Martín shakes his head, letting Andrés take the cheque from him to see it with his own eyes.

“Twenty-million euros,” he repeats, sounding just as incredulous as Martín.

Raquel screams, shaking a dumbstruck Sergio.

“What the fuck?” Martín asks and Andrés shakes his head. A thought suddenly occurs to him and as loathe as he is to voice it, to articulate his suspicions, he has to ask. “Andrés, you didn’t…”

He can’t even finish the sentence, but Andrés knows – and to his credit doesn’t look offended or angry, just sad. “No. I promise, Martín, I had no idea. I swear.”

Martín nods. “I just had to ask.”

“I know,” Andrés reassures him. “I know, mi amor, and I understand.”

Martín leans towards him and Andrés meets him halfway in a kiss.

“Enough, you two,” Raquel says loudly, but when Martín pulls away to look at her, she’s smiling.

“So, Martín,” Andrés says gently, one arm curling around his waist. “What are you going to do now?”

Martín shakes his head with a grin. “I don’t know, but I’m sure as hell never working on a fucking cruise ship again.”

Raquel laughs. "I don't know, it had it's upsides."

Andrés presses a kiss to the top of Martín's head and he smiles even wider. "Yes, I suppose it did."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and... we're done. I hope those of you who stuck around for the many months it took me to finish this enjoyed it and weren't too disappointed by the ending - i did my best and tried to give everyone the ending they deserve, even though the fic ended up having little in common with yucatán after all.
> 
> thank you all for your many kudos and comments and tweets and tumblr asks, i truly wouldn't ever have finished this without them!
> 
> as always, you can scream at me in the comments, on tumblr ([@hefellfordean](https://hefellfordean.tumblr.com)) or twitter ([@angstypalermo](https://twitter.com/angstypalermo))


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